


Bound

by fojee



Series: Call of the Stone [1]
Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Non-twilight vampires, Nothing explicit, Other, Threesome, Twincest, Voldemort-free universe, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-03-17 15:23:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 18
Words: 29,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3534434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fojee/pseuds/fojee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter has been expelled, his lover has disappeared, and his headmaster has developed a massive headache.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Previously posted at FFN, now with revisions while I am working on the sequel. This is a complete reshuffling of canon and most things are not what you remember them to be.

Chapter One

"You have been expelled, Mr. Potter."

Harry's mouth opened in astonishment, but one look at the man behind the desk and he closed it again.

"Yes, Headmaster Snape." He mumbled. "If that is all?"

"I've taken the liberty of informing your current _guardian_ of your predicament." Snape looked like he had swallowed a particularly vile potion. "You will leave on the train tomorrow after breakfast. Ready your things."

Harry nodded, his heart sinking. He didn't even think of how Mr. Black would react. The man dismissed him with a gesture. He walked down the steps from the headmaster's office like he was dreaming, and paused at the foot of the stairs, looking around him at the castle which had been his home more or less in the last five years. 

He closed his eyes so the tears wouldn't fall, took a deep breath, and headed straight for the owlery. He needed to owl his aunt a vague recounting of the events. Or maybe even an out-and-out lie. She musn't worry about him.

\---

Packing did not take long as the house-elves had washed and folded all his clothes for him, and he had little else to gather, just books and notes and his battered broom. That night at the Common Room, he put up a privacy spell and had terrible dreams.

The next morning at breakfast, Harry looked across the table at where Ron and Hermione were sitting. He wanted to tell them, but Ron had stopped talking to him since last summer. And after awhile, Hermione had followed suit. The two didn't even look at him. They were too caught up in each other.

Harry sighed. He didn't want to leave this way. Headmaster Snape would announce it all soon, and all hell would break loose then, but he didn't want to just disappear like leprechaun gold. He caught Neville's eye and gestured for him to follow Harry outside.

"What's up, Harry?" Neville said in the corridor, munching on a piece of toast.

Harry smiled nervously, tugging at his turtleneck. "I just wanted to let somebody know." He hesitated. "I'm leaving school."

"What's wrong?" Neville asked, alarm flitting across his face. Harry had missed some classes in the last few days. But he appeared at mealtimes and didn't look sick.

Harry shrugged, before whispering. "I've been expelled."

Neville's jaw dropped. "How is that possible? I-I mean I know Snape hates your guts and all but…" He frowned. "Does it have something to do with Professor Quirrell's disappearance?"

Harry took a deep breath. "Yeah, but. It's um, it's complicated. I deserve it, mostly. But I didn't want to leave without telling anyone. Like I was running away or something."

Neville hugged Harry awkwardly. "Well, good luck, mate. Owl me sometime, 'k? I'll tell the others tonight."

Harry hugged back, grateful that Neville didn't push for answers he could not give. "Thanks, Nev. And tell Ron…" He tried to think of something to assuage the redhead's anger. "Never mind. Just tell them I'll be alright."

\---

Half-way across the train ride and the compartment remained mostly empty. Harry sat across from an old woman surrounded by several bags. A young boy around eight was sleeping on her lap. She was reading the Daily Prophet. Harry furtively sneaked a look at the front page.

There was nothing about outed vampires and expelled students. He sighed in relief. Well, not yet anyway. He dug through his backpack for the letter from the Board that Professor McGonagall had given him before he left. There were no emotional farewells, although he did get a brisk pat on the back from Madame Pomfrey who had done all his tests, and a basket packed to the brim from the house-elves, who had probably noticed him picking at his breakfast. It saved him from having to buy from the trolley.

Headmaster Snape had not been there.

Harry ran a finger over the Hogwarts seal and opened the envelope. It read:

Dear Mr. Harry James Potter,

We regretfully inform you that the Board has decided against allowing you to remain in Hogwarts for the rest of the term. Considering recent circumstances, we fear for both your safety, and the safety of other students. We hope you understand our dilemma.

However, we concede that the circumstances were beyond your control, and we acknowledge our own failure in preventing such events as they occurred, and therefore we contacted certain people in the Ministry and gained permission for you to continue in your use of magic outside of the school as soon as you come of age, and as long as you employ discretion in the Muggle world.

Moreover, Headmaster Snape has agreed to allow you to take your N.E.W.T.s if you so desire one year hence at the end of the last term, or whenever you feel you are ready. We trust that your enthusiasm and curiosity guide your studies even outside of this institution, and we wish you the best of luck.

Sincerely,  
Jeremiah H. McTavish  
Chairman of the Board and all-around Representative

Harry smiled to himself. The problem was that he did understand their decision, and didn't blame them one bit. It was all his fault, anyway. He knew there would be consequences for taking up with a professor. What he didn't know was that the consequences would involve pointy fangs and blood loss. He ran his fingers over a spot on his neck covered by the turtleneck, and he shivered. If the headmaster hadn't discovered them as he had—

The train whistled. Harry looked up from his thoughts, and saw the empty seat across from him. They had reached the station at King's Cross without him even noticing.

When he got outside, most of the shops were closed. Fortunately for Harry, the Leaky Cauldron was not one of them. It figured, since most of their patrons were nocturnal.

He arranged to have a room for a few nights with Tom, the barkeeper, and asked to have his dinner brought to his room. He was wary of being recognized among the other patrons, as he had gained quite a following after winning the Triwizard Tournament his fourth year.  Before that, of course, there had been the scandal about his father… But that had been old news and merited little comment these days. Yet Harry knew once this new scandal came out, he could expect the dailies to start reprinting the old tales about James. Sirius Black was going to kill him.

Tom himself took up dinner to him. Harry smiled up at the cheery man balancing a silver tray on his hands.

"Hullo, Harry."

Harry nodded in greeting, gesturing at the table.

"So what's up with yer?"

With reluctance, Harry admitted his expulsion, but didn't expound on the reasons behind it.

Tom was naturally horrified. "But you're still in your sixth year, Harry. What are ye gonna do now?"

Harry shrugged. "Something will turn up."

Tom shook his head. "Course something will. But it's such a shame you couldn't even finish the year. Couldn't Snape have made an exception?"

Harry snorted. "Of course not. You know how he is." He attempted to placate the man indignant on his behalf. "It's not a big deal, Tom. It's not like they snapped my wand or something, and they'll still let me take my N.E.W.T.s. It's actually a relief." He made a face. "It hasn't been a good year for me." Which was quite an understatement. Everything had gone to hell after fourth year. 

Tom didn't look convinced, but he dropped the subject and left Harry to his meal.

Later after he had devoured the bangers and mash, Harry lay in bed, staring at the dusty ceiling, deep in thought. He wasn't as complacent as he had led Tom to believe. In fact, he was more than a little scared.

Being on his own for the first time since the Dursleys had left him.

With no professor or headmaster to dictate his every move.

And no friends.

The idea of such freedom may seem attractive to many other young wizards and witches, but Harry knew from experience how lonely it could get. And how he, of all people, needed someone to limit him, especially now with the possible effects of a vampire bite running through his veins.

\---

The first clue had been the dizziness.

Harry mistook it for giddiness. For the emotional highs and lows that usually accompanied a new relationship. For the excitement of secret trysts and long looks across the Great Hall and sleepless nights because they were doing something else.

Nope. Nothing about blood loss had ever crossed his mind.

Professor Quirrell was not a very tall man. He had dark hair that reached mid-back, and full lips that Harry loved to bite. Ironic, that. His best feature were his dark eyes. When he looked at Harry, everything else seemed to disappear. Nobody else stared at him with such intensity.

Nothing about hypnotism either.

And it wasn't true though, Harry argued to himself. Headmaster Snape looked at him like that. Except that instead of the intensity being about passion and lust, Snape's gaze had contained hatred, had contained promises of hell.

Why it would be so tempting, Harry could not answer.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

He first heard the name Sirius Black when he was ten years old. He had somehow pinned Dudley's arm to the wall without any sort of glue after his cousin had threatened to thump him. His aunt and uncle had found out, and for the first time, had sat him down to tell him the facts of life.

"You're a _freak_. Just like both your parents," Vernon growled. His face was still red with barely restrained fury. Petunia stopped her husband with a hand on his arm. He turned away from Harry, obviously trying to control himself.

Petunia tried to explain better. "When your mother turned eleven, she got a letter from a magical school for witches and wizards. She met your father there. Everything else we told you about them is true."

"So she did die while having me and then he killed himself?" Harry had known early never to use their first names.  
 Petunia nodded gravely. "Your father made his best friend your guardian. His name is Sirius Black. But he didn't want to keep you so he gave you to us."

"That bloody rich bastard," Vernon muttered, looking almost guilty.

"He pays us for your upkeep, Harry. And he said he would pay for your education at Hogwarts. He says it's his duty as your godfather."

Vernon snorted at that but kept silent.

"But why hasn't he ever come to visit?" Harry lit up at the thought of having a secret godfather looking after him, something that was his alone.

Petunia shook her head. "He doesn't want to see you, Harry, because you remind him too much of his dead friend. He's your actual guardian on paper. We're just caretakers of sort. But he made it clear he wants to look after you only from afar."

Harry felt confused. "So he didn't want me?" He asked in a small voice.

Vernon had looked at his wife. "No, he didn't want you and neither do we."

Harry flinched at that. Petunia reached out a hand as if to comfort him, but withdrew it immediately. "Vernon—," she murmured softly. "Maybe this isn't the right time."

"It's better that he know this now," he said, before turning to the boy. "When we took you in, I told that—that man that it was only until you left for that blasted school. I don't want any of that freakishness in my house!" Vernon had worked himself up into a lather.

"But I didn't mean to do that to Dudley's arm."

"It doesn't matter what you mean to. In the end, this—this magic of yours will still out. It makes you dangerous and we don't want you anywhere near our family." His uncle glared. "You'll stay until your letter and that's that."

\---

After that, in spite of his aunt's warnings, Harry begged her for Sirius Black's address. He wrote three letters to him, telling him about school and other things. But the mysterious wizard never wrote back, so he stopped, the disappointment slowly turning into anger as the months passed.

He wrote one last letter, letting his anger get the better of him. He refused the other man's help to go to Hogwarts and basically told him to leave Harry alone. In reply, he received a single bronze key, with a note, "Your parents prepared this for you" written in elegant script on the rough parchment. "Go to Gringotts."   
He took the letter to his aunt, who paled at its contents. She made Harry promise to keep it a secret from his uncle.

\---

When his Hogwarts letter finally did arrive, Petunia packed all his things into a single suitcase and took him to London. Walking on one street, she made him name out loud each store on one side until he spoke, "The Leaky Cauldron."

Once inside, she asked the barman—who introduced himself as Tom—to take them to the Alleys. There were several of them, each interconnected by some magical doorway. The nearest and most well-known was the Diagon Alley, where Gringotts could be found. It catered particularly to new Hogwarts students. Other alleys had similarly specialized clientele, and accompanying reputations.

Harry, however, did not have time to explore. His aunt hustled him through the opening after Tom had tapped bricks in a seemingly random pattern with his stick. The other side was a cobblestone street lined with old-fashioned shops on either side. 

He barely glimpsed some adverts with moving pictures in them before his aunt pulled him aside and gave him his key. She pointed out the wizarding bank on the right. "Just tell them your name and give them the key. I suppose they'll figure out what to do with it."

"You're not going with me?" Harry tried not to look like he was begging.

Petunia looked away, her face like granite. "I'm sorry Harry, but I can't stand the sight of those goblins. When I was young, I went with your mother to exchange money for her first year. I ended up having nightmares for weeks. I never came back here again."

Harry was scared, but he clutched the key in his hand and marched inside. Only to stop and gape at the creatures, small in stature, with long fingers, pointed ears and dark, neatly trimmed beards. They walked around the place mostly ignoring the robed men and women.

He tried to see who looked friendliest, but finally settled on the one behind a counter. Everyone else seemed too busy. He walked forward, smiling awkwardly when he caught the goblin's suspicious glare. He slid the key forward and whispered his name. After examining it, the goblin gestured to another behind the counter and Harry was led to a railway inside the building, where two joint carts was waiting.

He sat down in the second one and had to grip the sides in surprise when it moved, rolling mostly downwards though large caverns. The goblin sitting in the first cart mostly ignored him, even though Harry could barely suppress a whoop as the cart accelerated.

When it finally stopped, it was in front of a large doorway with two tiny keyholes side by side in its centre. The goblin took out both Harry's key and his own, and inserted them, turning them simultaneously. The door disappeared. Returning one key to Harry, the goblin gestured impatiently at the doorway.

Harry saw piles and piles of gold, silver and bronze coins scattered on one side like tiny mountain ranges. On the other side were stacked boxes, surrounded by odds and ends. By the door, several empty bags hung, waiting to be filled.

He turned towards the goblin helplessly. "Excuse me sir, but how much do I need to pay for _everything_?"

The creature examined him from head to toe. "First year at Hogwarts?"

Harry nodded. "I don't even know how much my tuition is."

The goblin took out a roll of parchment from his bag and unrolled a portion. "According to your files, the tuition is automatically deducted annually from the vault every first of September starting this year." He continued to estimate the total cost of every item on a first year student's list, naming what seemed like a ridiculously high amount to the boy.

Harry thanked him politely, and proceeded to fill one money bag with the amount, adding an extra fistful of the gold ones ("Galleons. Twenty-one sickles to a galleon, seventeen knuts to a sickle.") just to be sure.

Before he left, he couldn't resist looking at the other objects in the vault. To his delight, he found two of the books on his list: A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot and Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling. The former had James Potter written on the flyleaf, while the second had Lily Evans in a neat script. Just touching them made Harry tremble.

There were also trunks full of clothes, some furniture, and several sealed boxes. He would have tried to open them, but he knew his aunt was waiting, so he climbed back into the cart, looking longingly at all that was left of his parents.

\---

Aunt Petunia took him shopping, but in reality she just stood near the doorway of each store like a colt about to bolt. She made Harry pick out his own things, and made him pay for it himself at the counter. Still, she didn't really panic until they made their way into Ollivanders to buy a wand.

"Just do what he says. I'll wait outside," she told him, almost in tears. "And be careful where you point that thing, you hear me. It's dangerous."

Harry bought a wand made of holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches long, but he stuffed it into his trunk like it was a bomb.

\---

At the end of the day, Petunia began to look more cheerful. She led Harry back into the Leaky Cauldron towards the bar.

"My nephew is going to stay here until the first of September," she informed Tom, who was polishing several glasses with a flick of his wand. "You rent rooms, don't you?"

Harry felt his heart sinking. Of course. Uncle Vernon had said he couldn't stay after he got his letter. That's why his aunt had packed all his possessions.

"But September be almost two months awa'," Tom exclaimed, peering at the little boy with messy black hair and glasses. "Surely ye don't want him to leave so early?"

Petunia patted Harry's shoulder tentatively. "It's better this way. The boy should be with his kind, after all. I'm placing him under your care, sir, if you will."

Tom wanted to protest that the boy was too young to be left alone, but after looking Harry in the face, found himself agreeing. "Don't worry, missus. The boy will be safe enough, as long as he don't wander 'round too far."

Petunia breathed a sigh of relief, and emptied her purse of a stack of notes. "Will this be enough for the rent?"

"You don't have to pay for me, Aunt Petunia," Harry said. "I still have some galleons—"

"No, dear. We could at least do this much for you," Petunia told him, her face softening a little, like she was about to cry.

Tom accepted the muggle money with bemusement. He didn't even bother to count it. "It'll do just fine, missus." He watched in approval as the woman grabbed the boy into a fierce hug.

"I'm sorry about this, Harry. But I really think this will be best for you," she told him. "No matter what happens, write to me, alright? They use owls here. I could reply if it waits."

Harry nodded dumbly. His aunt had never showed him this much affection, and he didn't know how to reply.

"Take care of yourself," Petunia said one last time, "Be safe." And then she was hurrying out of the bar into muggle London.

\---

That was the last time Harry saw his aunt, although he kept his promise and wrote. And now he was back in The Leaky Cauldron, with Tom.

That first couple of months, and each summer as the years passed, Tom had looked after him with a sort of affable concern, and pity which had slowly faded into respect. The feeling was mutual; Harry would always love the man for not changing when he had gained his fame as youngest Triwizard champion in centuries. He had written to congratulate him, and come summer, had cuffed him in the head as greeting, and went on as usual.

Still, he had not confided in the older man. Tom was not equipped to deal with this. Neither was Harry for that matter. But he knew at least two people who could listen to his tale without blinking. Neither of them was Sirius bloody Black.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

The next day dawned bright and early. Nothing in the Prophet yet. Maybe Headmaster Snape was buying him time to disappear, Harry mused to himself.

It wouldn't matter so much being in the news if nobody bugged him about it. He didn't want to meet another Rita Skeeter dissecting his life, as she had after he won the Triwizard Tournament. He tried his best to ignore the existence of several unauthorized biographies with his face in the bookstores. This was just going to give that woman even more ammunition against him.

Harry took to Diagon Alley as soon as it was light. Most of the shops were still closed, but Gringotts opened with the sun. 

Harry dug out a key in his pocket and got in the cart as directed. When they reached his vault, he examined the grouped hills of coins, much lessened after six years, but still plentiful in his eyes. Suddenly curious, he asked the goblin waiting impatiently by the cart for a quick-count inventory of the monetary contents of his vault.

The goblin pressed a few buttons on a small box which glowed briefly and started to hum. He read from a small screen out loud to Harry. Parchment was still widely used in the rest of wizarding society, but the goblins were more forward-thinking than most, and had invested in the development of new magical technologies.

"587 galleons, 642 sickles, 213 knuts."

Harry always wondered how his parents amassed such a fortune by the time they died in their early twenties, his mother of complications at childbirth and his father of suicide. He had researched the story his aunt and uncle had fed him, and found them to be true.

He knew his father came from an old wizarding family, but although there were lineage lists recorded in huge books in the library at Hogwarts that detailed around fifty-three Potters living in the continent, he never did find his father's name. Nor was his own written anywhere in the self-updating list. And none of the other items in the vault shed any light to this. There were no photographs of his parents and their families and no letters. Perhaps Sirius Black had kept those, but he was the last person he'd ask.

He could have contacted any of the Potters on the lineage list, but decided not to bother. They'd have heard of him now, of course. If they didn't contact _him_ , that must mean they're not interested. Like Mr. Black.

On impulse, Harry asked the goblin in front of him about the money. The creature glared resentfully back before finally answering.

"Lily and James Potter initially invested a fixed amount of 150 galleons sixteen years ago, as soon as Lily had conceived. The account had a higher interest rate than normal following the condition that you would only be able to access the vault in the year you turned eleven. Following their deaths, the contents of their joint vaults were transferred to yours. If that is all, sir?"

Harry hurriedly filled two empty sacks with around eighty galleons and a hundred sickles each. Upstairs, he had one sack converted into pounds. Then he arranged to open an account in a muggle bank that Gringotts dealt with. He had some vague notion of hiding among the muggles and wanted to be ready for any eventuality.

"Thank you for your patronage, Mr. Potter."

Whoever taught the goblins manners seriously needed to cut back on sarcasm.

By the time Harry walked back, some of the shops were already open, and a few people were wandering about. But the shop beside Fortescue's was still closed. The proprietors were probably still asleep.

Harry decided to explore a bit while waiting. Growing up, Tom had shown him the different doorways into the other alleys, but aside from a few side trips, he usually stuck to Diagon's familiar shops. 

He liked Mantou, though. It always had a festive air even in the dead of winter. And in the summer, there were concerts and games held there, like a sort of circus. Its entrance stood at the end of Diagon Alley—a hedge made of large thorns. He pricked his finger on one and waited while the thorns unraveled and let him pass. Beyond lay just a meadow with a dirt road winding through it. A sign marked it as Mantou Alley. 

Instead of buildings, there were little tents pitched onto the grassy knoll, colourfully patched and looking cheerful among the wildflowers. They were always different, Harry knew, set up by collectors of all sorts with their bits and bobs, and nomads in caravans bringing exotic spices and the more rare ingredients for potions. There were also some enterprising housewives selling tins of jam or hand-knit scarves and jumpers. (He had met Mrs. Weasley there one summer.) It was more a grey than a black market; the be-spelled thorns prevented any truly dodgy people from entering. 

Maybe when I've turned into a vampire, the thorns won't let me in, Harry thought morbidly as he secured the sacks from Gringotts inside his cloak with its anti-theft spell, and walked toward the nearest tent.

The first one had tiny perfume bottles with strange-coloured contents. Harry could swear some of them were vibrating. He eyed them briefly, before heading to the next one.

The colourful things strewn on green velvet caught Harry's interest. Small sculptures made of different rocks, precious or otherwise, stood on the table as if tiny monuments erected on grass. Harry picked up one in smoky amethyst. It was a snake striking, fangs extended, hood flaring.

The man behind the counter beamed at him, bowing formally and introducing himself as Arugba. He was as small as Professor Flitwick though his skin was darker and he had thick black hair. He had tiny fingers that looked like they belonged to a child. But those fingers reached for the snake in Harry's grip, and they handled the stone deftly.

"Not many pick the snake-stone, sir. Too scary, too real, they say."

Harry smiled almost shyly. "I'm not afraid of snakes. Did you make them?"

"Yes. I chose each stone as they come to me, and they become many things as the stone permits."

"Do they have any magical properties?" Harry was curious, picking up another one in plain rock, a perfect rose on the verge of bloom.

"Some have simple protection spells, good for gifts. Others have complex ones because of the stone, but all bring good luck, sir."

The small man bowed again and Harry bowed back. He had bought the snake-stone and a reddish-yellow amber cat curled around itself, sleeping. He needed all the luck he could get.

Harry browsed awhile, before stopping at the largest tent. In the long tables, stacks of books and parchments were scattered, some tied together by string, while others looked like lost pages held down by oval rocks so they wouldn't fly away.

Randomly picking up volumes, and scanning titles and pages of the parchments, Harry came across several sheets of music rolled up together, and a book on earth spells that looked intriguing, even though Harry had never heard the term.

He added what seemed to be someone's journal, full of barely legible handwriting and amusing little cartoons that waved from the page, and finished with a bunch of random parchments. Some of them looked like they were written in some sort of code. Harry just added whatever seemed interesting, thinking he would at least have fun deciphering them.

He had a brief interest in codes and ciphers, recalling his own diaries written while still living with the Dursleys more than five years ago. He had some pretty inventive ways to hide his writing. But in the end, his uncle had thrown everything out, declaring the squiggles to be "unnatural."

Thinking of Uncle Vernon led to thoughts of Harry's aunt. Should he have told her everything? He had kept the truth from Tom automatically, even though he knew the older man's first reaction would have been sympathy. And then the second would have been fear. Aunt Petunia cared for him, but she was willfully blind to his world; she wouldn't have wanted to know.

The small bespectacled girl wrapped everything in muslin and tied the entire thing with a green ribbon. It had cost Harry a mere fifteen sickles for the entire thing. He knew most of them would end up as useless, but there was a bit of comfort in the act of shopping for frivolous things. It was as if his life wasn't in grave danger, as if he didn't just leave everything and everyone behind.

By the time Harry returned to Diagon Alley, he was carrying different-sized packs awkwardly in one hand, while eating a rosemary-lamb sandwich in another. And the store was finally open: Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. I do have this finished, but I started a new job recently and I don't write well while anxious. The sequel is almost 6k words right now. I may also post meta notes about this series so feel free to ask questions or give suggestions for the sequel. (If you've read the original over at FFN and thus already knows how this ends.)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So of course, right after posting the previous chapter, I figured out yet another new thing about Arugba, and since I had already introduced him, it was too late for a last-minute edit. So just keep this in mind: Arugba is not like Flitwick after all. They are both small. But Flitwick is mostly a wizard with some goblin blood. Arugba is mostly a goblin, although he doesn't really act like one. Goblin, goblin, goblin. There.

Chapter Four

"Um, hi. Is Fred there, or George?" Harry asked the tall girl fiddling with some boxes behind the counter. She was the assistant that the twins had hired to manage the store, so they could focus more on the production side. Harry read about her in the twins' letters. Her name was Violet Applesnare, and she was a Hufflepuff who had graduated the year before.

She lifted her head for a second, and he glimpsed her rainbow-coloured braid and the impression of freckles, before she pointed at the back of the room. Then she buried her head back in sorting what seemed to be snitch-shaped lollipops.

Harry took it as permission and stepped into the back room of the small shop. The room was filled with boxes from floor to ceiling, looking in danger of falling at any second. From behind one leaning tower of Wheezes products, Fred emerged. Or George. Harry could never tell which.

"Harry!" The red-haired ambiguous person exclaimed, dropping a box with a smash and scooping Harry up into a hug. "George, look who's here!"

Ah. It was Fred. Harry really should have known. The creature holding him in his Quidditch-toughened arms after all, had a small pin on his Wheezes apron. It said Fretty.

Another redhead appeared from behind Harry and sandwiched him in another hug that made his bones creak. When he turned halfway to look at George, he saw a matching pin, saying Georgeous.

"Um, you could let go now, guys." Harry said with a chuckle, although he really missed the feeling of being hugged.

As one, the twins let go. "So you've met Violet?"

"Not formally," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "She seems like she's doing a good job."

"She's a lifesaver," George agreed. "We're considering making her a partner, actually. She has this plan for expansion that will make us really big, really fast. We're still studying it, though. Maybe in a year or so."

Harry caught up with the news of the business, before he finally let drop his bit of news. The twins exchanged mirror looks of shock before inundating him with questions. Harry tried his best to explain everything without saying too much, but once he started, he found that he couldn't stop.

"I knew it wasn't right, but well, I really thought it was love, you know…" Harry had dropped his gaze, remembering. Quirrell had talked to him and had touched him like he was something precious. Not just someone to tolerate, but someone he wanted and needed. A part of Harry still longed to have that back. It might have been wrong on so many levels. But when it was good, it was very good.

He was brought back to the present by the twins' reactions.

"Blimey! So the greasy git found you?" Fred asked, half in horror and half in fascination.

"You're lucky you only got expelled, mate." George shook his head.

"You're lucky he didn't join in. I always thought he was the vampire, the great flapping bat." Fred flapped his arms and pretended to go for Harry.

Harry's throat went dry at the image of Snape latching on to his jugular. "I don't remember it much, actually. I just sat there feeling woozy when he swooped down to save my arse. Or my neck, actually." He self-consciously touched the covered scar on his neck.

"Aren't vampire bites supposed to make you go barmy?" Fred had a feral smile that made Harry shiver. "Hey, mate, how about giving us a blood sample?"

Harry backed away. "Oh no. No way. Who knows what you guys will do with it. I don't even know what's happening to me! What if you turn your customers into vampires?"

"Relax, Harry." George had settled on one precariously balanced box. "Using blood in mass-produced consumables is against wizarding law." He sounded like he was quoting a frequently-heard warning. "But it does make sense you know. We can do a lot of tests on your blood, compare it to ours, that sort of thing."

"Like microscopes and DNA testing?" Harry had a vague idea about what scientists do with blood.

"Huh?" The twins looked at each other. "Well, we could do that, too."

Harry surrendered with a shrug. "Alright. Just be careful with it. I don’t want you guys to get infected or something."

George bit his lip. "So what are you gonna do now, anyway? You can't stay at the Leaky Cauldron for the rest of your life. I know Tom's decent and all, but it isn't exactly the safest place, what with people coming and going."

"Well I'm not sure. I do still want to take my N.E.W.T.s. So that means I need books and stuff. And I need to figure out this vampire thing. I might suddenly burst into flame in daylight or worse." What if by next year I'm not even human anymore? Harry didn't say out loud. 

He knew some creatures could get special dispensations from the Ministry, like that werewolf who was doing long-distance classes three years ago. But he had written a paper on it once and the whole process seemed to involve some pretty invasive regular check-ups, and they were still barred from several places, and their magic severely curtailed. The last thing he wanted was to be reclassified as a creature.

Fred draped an arm over Harry's shoulder. "Well, you could always stay with us."

"Seriously?" Harry didn't dare ask, but that was what he was hoping for.

"'Course, mate. You're practically part-owner anyway. And we consider you family, even if Ron-the-git doesn't anymore."

Since the fall-out with Ron, Harry grew closer to the twins who continued to treat him like they always did. When they decided to drop out and start their own shop ahead of schedule, Harry was one of the few who supported them, and even gave them about sixty galleons as start-up help, in addition to the winnings from the tournament the year before.

Harry beamed at the two of them.

"I should warn you, though. We live in a muggle area. Strange people those muggles are, and we can't do much magic outside the house."

"I'm not allowed to use magic, anyway. At least not until I'm seventeen," Harry told them.

"That's not true," Fred said, grinning. "You're not allowed to do magic outside of school and other magically warded places. That rule's for those who live more openly among muggles."

"And the inside of our house is warded to the hilt," George continued. "We explode stuff in our basement and nobody's the wiser. You'd be able to use your wand there without trouble, especially since we made sure the Ministry can't penetrate our shields."

Harry smiled in relief at the thought. His magic had become such an integral part of him that to be disallowed to use it, even for a short while, had made him uneasy. "But that meant all those summers I spent with Tom… I could have used magic then?"

"The Leaky Cauldron is an exception," George said. "It's like a doorway between worlds, so it can't be warded as effectively. And besides, all the alleys are strictly monitored by the Ministry. Public areas, you know, with some muggle traffic, from the families of muggleborns."

"Yeah, we still used magic back at the Burrow. And there are other places that are only open to wizards. Like the Artisan's Secret."

"Artisan's Secret?"

"It's a place for wizarding craftsmen. Pretty isolated. Anyway, kids can use magic there, because some of them apprentice young." George raised an eyebrow. "You never heard of all this?"

"Who would have told me? Tom probably assumed I already knew." Harry had found out the hard way how many things pureblood wizards knew that nobody bothered to explain to muggleborns. Although he wasn't one of the latter, he never quite fit in with the former group either.    
"Anyway, you’d be very welcome at our place. Bill and Charlie helped us move out, and they spelled it so it's much bigger inside than it is out. Certainly big enough for four."

"Four?" Harry asked.

"We ah, have another roommate." Fred's smile turned into a leer. "I guess we didn't write you about that." To be fair, he had written Harry about the new house a few weeks ago. The twins had bought it outright so it would be theirs, after about ninety years' worth of payments, that is. (Wizarding lifespans being what they were.) 

"His name's Daniel. And he's a rock star." George blushed, which Harry had never seen him do.

"A bard, actually. But he dropped out of the Cantatio Conservatoire, and started his own rock band. He's cool."

Harry blinked at that. "Conservatoire? There's a school for bards?"

"Oh, it's mostly a home-run school. Daniel's family are known for producing bards. They accept outsiders but only by adopting them into the family. Daniel's really good, but he got fed up with his father dictating his every note."

"Their loss is our gain." Fred shrugged.

Harry found himself blushing too, picking up what they're not saying out loud. "I'd love to meet him. And I don't mind living near muggles. But are you sure there's room?"

George slapped him on the back. "We wouldn't ask if we didn't mean it, mate."

By the end of the day, Harry had moved out of the Leaky Cauldron, saying goodbye to Tom, who wished him well.

With his trunks floating after him, Harry followed the twins out to Diagon Alley back to their shop, where a single brick fireplace in the backroom was connected by floo.

Fred threw a pinch of powder in, then jumped through. George followed suit, taking ahold of Harry's trunk. Harry took a deep breath before doing the same, shouting the name that the twins had given. "Love Nest."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still working on the sequel. When I write longer things, the tone tends to change depending on what I'm reading/feeling. And revision is just so, so hard for me. (Ok. Rant over.) Thank you for all the kudos!


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

The Love Nest turned out to be a ramshackle house somewhere in London. From the inside, it looked a little like the Burrow, shabby and lived in and ancient looking. Like the twins had been there forever.

But aside from the generous proportions, there were no signs of the place being a wizarding household. No portraits of moving men, no clocks with strange assignations, and no candles. Everything was electrical. It was Arthur Weasley's version of paradise.

As if he could read Harry's thoughts, George said defensively. "These things aren't just for show. We know how to use them. Unlike dear old dad."

Fred butted in. "Yeah. We've even called people up on the tellyphone. We pretend we're someone else then we mess with them. Or sometimes we just make noises and listen to them freak out."

Harry shook his head. Trust Fred and George to discover the fun of prank calling.

Fred showed him around the house: the sitting room with the large armchairs and the bookshelves where the fireplace connected to the floo network could be found, the tiny kitchen with a lot of appliances lying on the counters still smelling of freshly made bread, the dining room with papers strewn all over the table—obviously notes on latest WWW products, the basement with cauldrons and mixers and bottles of potions ingredients, the bedroom with the monstrosity of a bed in the middle, and an attic room with a sloping roof and a bunch of dusty boxes.

"And here is where you'll stay, Harry." George patted a box, dust billowing from it.

"You were just kidding, were you guys, when you said you had room." Harry dropped his trunks with a thud. It reminded him a little of living in the smallest bedroom at the Dursleys, surrounded by Dudley's broken toys.

"Nah. We'll just clean it up in a jiffy, Harry."

The twins each pulled out a wand and began muttering spell after spell. The boxes shook the dust off which transformed into feathers, which transformed into pillows resting on a small bed. Still surrounded by boxes. But there was a dresser, and a desk with a lamp beside the bed, and a small armchair, and an empty bookshelf. Seeing them work together instinctively was a thing of beauty.

Finally, George pronounced it livable.

"Barely." Fred muttered. "You still have to sort through the boxes. We inherited them from the previous owners. And George here didn't want to banish them, in case there was something useful. He's a bit like dear ol' mum that way."

George whacked his brother at the back of his head.

Laughing, Harry assured them it was no trouble. It might even be fun. Might being the operative word.

"Don't worry yourself, mate. I cast a dead bug spell, so the spiders and roaches are probably gasping their last breaths right now." With a wave, the twins left Harry to his unpacking.

"I don't mind spiders." Harry murmured, suddenly thinking of Ron.

\---

As far as Ronald Weasley was concerned, Harry's sexuality was the feather that broke the hippogriff's back.

It started in fourth year with the tournament. Ron was too proud to accept part of the prize money, even though Harry told him over and over that he didn't really need it. In the end he just donated it to the Fred and George Charity, knowing that the twins had plans that required financial backing. When Ron found out, he became jealous and took it out on his brothers.

By the time the fifth year started, Ron wasn't talking to the twins and only answered Harry in monosyllables. That was before the fan mail started to arrive. When Ron discovered he was only replying to the letters from male fans, he got really quiet. When Harry tried to talk to him, he only stared back, his face like stone.

Hermione was too busy with her studies and her growing relationship with Ron to notice that Harry was disappearing more and more often. That her two best friends no longer spoke to each other. She was still friendly with Harry, when she chanced upon him in the hallways or at the Common Room. But it just wasn't the same anymore. By the time fifth year was over, the two had their own thing, and Harry spent most of his time alone.

Harry guessed the self-imposed isolation made him an easy mark for Quirrell. He smiled bitterly at the thought of the vampire. He had felt so special when the older man had paid him more attention last year. By the time this year had started, he had fallen head over heels in what he thought was love. The all too recent betrayal still made his heart pang.

And there was a chance he would end up to be like Quirrell: a predator feeding off other people. Harry bit off the sob that rose in his throat. He would not cry. It was far too late for self-pity.

¬¬¬---

Harry found himself gazing at the cobwebs that the twins' spell missed. He had fallen into a light doze, but felt more rested than he'd ever been. This place already felt like home.

He stood up with surprising energy, and decided to start tackling the boxes. He unpacked his things first, putting his clothes in the dresser and his books, newly bought and old school ones, on the shelves. He placed his trunk at the foot of his bed, and kept the sacks of money inside with a complicated locking charm. The two stone animals he placed on his desktop. They fit there beside his inkwell. They made the room seem more  
personal. As if a real person lived there.

Then he chose one of the bigger boxes, pulling it beside his bed, so he could sort while sitting down. This one held a variety of old toys, wooden blocks and rag dolls and rattles and small sacks filled with beans. Harry reached for the quill on the desk, and proceeded to label the boxes. 'Old Toys' was scrawled on the big one, and the other boxes soon held labels like 'Halloween Costumes', 'Photo Albums' and 'Dishes'.

Most of the stuff was still in good condition, and Harry lucked out and found a big box of books of all sorts. There were muggle comic books, books on gardening, cookbooks, scrapbooks and half-filled sketch pads that seemed really interesting, even an old herbal with hand-painted illustrations that looked like it belonged to a museum.

Harry flipped through a young girl's diary written in blue ink with big loops and lots of hearts and flowers on the margins. He set it aside and found several novels in what seemed to be French. He picked the ones he thought he'd like reading and the ones that looked fascinating and placed them on his shelf. It didn't look so empty anymore. He returned the rest inside and marked it 'Books'.

It was mindless work, and served to erase the thoughts of the past. He lost himself in the sorting, determined to be more hopeful. After all, he still had friends who knew the truth and could still accept him. About half a dozen boxes were left unmarked by the time George called Harry to dinner. He went downstairs more than a little sweaty and very pleased with himself.

And then he saw the stranger sitting beside Fred.

The stranger had long hair streaked with blue and tied back into a ponytail. His eyes were dark and stormy, but he had on an easy smile. On his sexy biteable lips. He was gorgeous.

Harry tugged at his wrinkled shirt self-consciously. And forced a smile on his own face. "Hi. Daniel, right?"

The man nodded, extending a long-¬fingered hand. "Daniel Cantatio. Pleased to meet you, Harry Potter." His voice was low and musical.

The dry grip made Harry's throat go as dry.

¬¬¬---

"You like him, don't you." It wasn't a question.

Harry looked back into Fred's eyes. They were in the kitchen, making dinner. The soup was almost ready, and the potatoes just needed mashing.

"He's… hot." Harry admitted with a sheepish smile. "But he's not my type." He hurriedly added. "And anyway, I'm not interested in anything like that right now, so…"

Fred slapped him on the shoulder. "Good to hear that, mate. Coz George and I, we've always been terrible at sharing. And Daniel is… he's something else." Fred had on a smile that was half-leer, half-poetry.

They got back to mashing. And Harry felt his insides tremble with emptiness that had nothing to do with hunger.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Harry got to hear Daniel play a couple of weeks later. He was in the study, picking up books to look through for leads on his current dilemma, when he heard the strains.

Daniel was alternately plucking strings on a wooden guitar and writing notes on a sheet of music. His long legs were up on the dining table, flattening the piles of notes on the Weasleys' latest inventions.

"Hey." Harry greeted. "Mind if I stay?"

Daniel shook his head, and continued his strumming. From somewhere around the house, Fred and George appeared, sitting on the table, unusually silent.

After thirty or so minutes, Daniel went through the whole thing start to finish, a quick and heart-pounding rhythm that made Harry want to move. After a bout of clapping, Daniel gave Harry a bright-eyed smile, and Fred stood up to make some tea.

The four of them spent the rest of the night talking.

"My family's a bunch of bigger snobs than the Malfoys. They're just snobs about talent, not purity of blood. That means they accept muggleborns into the family once they prove themselves. It also means we have a lot of nonmusical black sheep who left the family fold voluntarily or not, changed their names and lived out their nonmusical lives happily ever after."

Fred said proudly. "Daniel here's the blackest of all the sheep though."

They smiled at each other, Fred's hand reaching out to Daniel's.

"You sounded almost jealous. Of your non-musical relatives, I mean." Harry was trying his best to understand.

"I guess I almost am. Dad wouldn't have made such a fuss of me leaving if I didn't have this gift. But I couldn't live without music either. It's like breathing."

Harry replied jokingly. "Well don't waste it on me; I'm tone deaf."

They all laughed.

"Don't you ever dance, Harry?" Fred interrupted.

"Dance?" Harry shook his head in amusement. "Not since the Yule Ball in fourth year, no." He had taken Ginny, and she suffered through a couple of songs' worth of stepped toes before abandoning him in favour of Lee Jordan. After that he had taken the young Gabrielle Delacour for a round. She had been more patient at teaching him, but she abandoned him too, this time for the refreshments table. He had given up the rest of the night as a loss. 

"Not that kind of dance. Daniel's music is for shaking your arse to. Like at clubs and stuff," George added, looking almost embarrassed. 

Harry chuckled. "I've never been. So that's where you play?"

"Yeah," Daniel said. "Fred and George go when they have time. And gods! Do they dance! Some nights, they're a bigger draw than our band. I don't know if my bandmates are embarrassed or envious whenever those two come in."

"I'd like to watch." Harry said.

"I'm sure we can put on a show for you, Harry." Fred leered.

"Daniel's band playing, you idiot!" Harry flushed, while George looked to be holding back a fit of giggles. "What's your band called, anyway?"

Daniel looked at the twins fondly, one hand rubbing against the wood of his guitar. "Lost and Found."

After dinner, Harry sat on the kitchen counter while Daniel spelled the dishes clean.

"So your bandmates know about you and uh, the twins?"

"Yup." Daniel raised an eyebrow in an unspoken question.

"They weren't angry? Or, um, disgusted?" Harry looked at his hands.

"I've known them awhile. We all sneaked out to muggle clubs when we were young. They've seen worse," Daniel said with a shrug. After the dishes were done, though, he turned to Harry. 

"It's still a taboo for some muggles. Especially the being with twins part. Wizards can be both better or worse at it." 

"So how do you deal with those that are worse at it?" Harry asked.

Daniel shrugged. "Good shielding spells?" Harry scoffed at that, but Daniel wasn't smiling. "If you find someone you like, someone you can be yourself with, who makes you laugh and all, well who cares if they're a boy or a girl or in-between? And who cares what the rest of the world thinks? Nobody owns your heart but you."

After Daniel left, Harry stayed on the counter, thinking. _Nobody may own my heart but me. But as for the rest… I'm not really free, am I?_ The thought of Quirrell was like a shadow over him, stealing the joy from the day, stealing the very air. He suddenly felt stifled and suffocated, so much so that he almost pitched to the ground trying to catch his breath. He sat on the kitchen floor, hand fisted against his chest, listening to his pounding heart. 

\---

Headmaster Snape came knocking one month later.

Harry was the only one at home, comfortably settled in one armchair and reading a seventh year book in Charms that he got from Flourish and Blott. The fire turned green and a tall man in a dark cloak stepped out of the grate.

"H-headmaster!" Harry stood up, book tumbling to the floor.

"Potter." The man nodded in acknowledgement. "I'm just delivering a package for the twins." He set a deep red wooden box on the table. "Make sure they receive it." He turned to leave.

"Wait, headmaster." Harry grabbed the sleeve of his robe before letting it fall. "Er, would you like some tea, before you go?"

Snape's eyes were inscrutable as always. "Very well. Earl Grey if you have any."

They had tea and biscuits in the sitting room. Surprisingly, it was the headmaster who initiated conversation.

"How are your studies going, Potter?"

Harry fidgeted. "I've finished the sixth year books on everything, so I'm starting on the seventh year. The potions seem to be much trickier, though. Especially the more Healer-based ones."

"They are. The books don't cover every necessary step and there are variations to fine-tune the potency or adjust dosages, especially for children. Ask the twins for advice if need be."

Harry smiled at the indirect compliment to Fred and George.

"However, by studies I was referring to something else."

Harry's smile faltered. "Not much luck there, headmaster. Flourish and Blott don't carry many books on the subject, and I don't feel very different anyway. Maybe—maybe it didn't stick."

Snape chose to be unsubtle. "Quirrell is smarter than he looks. After he escaped custody, he's certainly lying low, hoping to get your guard down. But trust me on this, Potter: right now, Quirrell practically owns you, mind, body, soul."

"So he'd be able to tell where I am no matter what?"

Snape nodded.

"Maybe I should move, then. I don't want to get anyone mixed up in this." Harry thought about his three housemates.

"I'm sure Fred and George Weasley were aware of the dangers when they offered you board and lodging. They are just Gryffindor enough to ignore what it may mean for them. But I believe they are capable of protecting themselves. Right now, you're safer within a group than alone."

Potter looked up in the man's eyes. "Until when?"

"Until we have found a way to break the blood binding. Or until we have a better idea of Quirrell's movements." Neither of them spoke of the possibility that Harry himself could be the source of the danger.

"And if there is no way?"

"Then Quirrell will have to die."

Snape stood up abruptly and headed for the fireplace. "In the meantime, try the book store in Pwyll Alley. Silver Quill, it's called. They have a more—unrestricted clientele. And there are second hand bookshops along Arawn and Mantou." He didn't even turn to face Harry. He was just gone.

In an impulse, Harry overturned his empty cup on his saucer. The dregs formed a single shape: that of a bat.

Harry shuddered.

Later that night, Fred and George looked faintly puzzled at the package from the headmaster. And Harry never did find out what it contained.

\---

Harry spent a lot of time thinking of Headmaster Snape's visit. It was the most civil conversation that they had ever had.

Severus Snape had arrived at his current position during Harry's second year, after Headmaster Dumbledore had retired to somewhere in Corfu.

It had caused quite a ruckus, since Snape was younger than all the other professors in the school. But he had been Albus Dumbledore's protégé and the youngest Potions Master in centuries. When Minerva McGonagall approved his appointment, the others followed suit, and neither the Board of Education nor the Ministry could do anything.

It was hate at first sight.

The man had known—and loathed—his father at school. So from the beginning, the headmaster had let slip to some students of his father's suicide, which spread like wildfire, eventually making all but a few of his yearmates steer clear of him, particularly the other Gryffindors.

Apparently, taking one's own life was the height of cowardice, a mark of dishonour, and a taboo topic in polite society. The muggleborns felt sorry for him which was bad enough, but then the purebloods considered him a pariah. This attitude probably explained why the name of James Potter and his progeny had been expunged from the Lineage Lists.

Headmaster Snape had not wasted any opportunity in reminding Harry of his status as outcast, and as orphan. And Harry had gotten very close to being expelled by talking back.

Well now he was expelled anyway. But Snape had changed. It was as if Quirrell's bite had erased Harry: Son of Insufferable Coward and Hypocrite James Potter, and had replaced him with Harry: Vampire Victim, Danger to All, Handle with Care.

After the older man had found him in Quirrell's arms, he had sat Harry down and asked him about the relationship in as gentle a way as possible. Even though they were still enemies then—for the jabs and mockery had increased since his winning the Triwizard Tournament—he found himself confessing all, even those events that made his cheeks flame upon recall. The headmaster had said nothing in reply, merely telling him to research the phenomenon and take note of his reactions, as if it were a bloody assignment.

But the sniping was over; an uneasy truce reigned.

Harry wasn't sure if that was any better. He didn't want the older man's pity or even fear, as he was sure others would react. He refused to entertain the notion that what Headmaster Severus Snape showed him could be concern.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience, everyone. I'm really just grinding out the sequel, which is turning out a little too heavy for me. Is it possible that I'm too old for this world? Hahaha. Maybe.


	7. Chapter 7

The news had broken out in various incarnations and Harry's face was plastered on every paper in the wizarding world. Headmaster Snape had sent word to Harry. "Keep your whereabouts a secret. I have tried my best, but since the board was involved, it is out of my hands. Do not take unnecessary risks. But continue your research."

Harry was expecting a flurry of owls to descend on their doorstep. After all, his fame was flagging a bit, but this bit of news would surely bring it all back. And indeed the newspapers all had his stock pictures from the tournament, with trophy and sack of prize money in hand. In one paper, however, someone had tinted his green eyes red, and exaggerated the canines on his smile: the work of some bloody "artist" over at the Prophet. (He did get a kick from the Quibbler's headline: Rabid Vampire At Large with Quirrell's face instead, but it was the exception rather than the rule.)

But other than the papers, no other owl post arrived. Apparently, the twins had a box over at Diagon Alley for their mail. It was carefully screened: howlers disposed of, and each package or envelope checked carefully for hexes.

"I'm sorry for the bother," Harry told them, but the twins waved it aside.

"It's because of Daniel, mate. Do you know how many fan letters our dear boy receives every fortnight?" George asked, shaking his head. "I'm talking stalker types who send in their knickers bathed in perfume. Bloody nutters, I tell you."

The image made Harry laugh. He did receive one letter from Neville, who had sent a scroll to Tom, who, in turn, passed it on, along with his reassurances that Harry was still welcome at the Leaky Cauldron. Harry thanked the older man, but he saw the relief on Tom's face when he said he was fine where he was.

Neville had a lot of things to say.

_There are so many differing versions of the tale that no one knows who to believe. Ron has been a git about the whole thing, and he and Hermione had a row about it. Ginny took your side as well, but the rest of the school is in an uproar, either about the gay thing, or the teacher thing, or the vampire thing. I understand why you didn't want to tell. What a mess, eh?_

_One surprise, though, is Malfoy, who actually defended you in a roundabout way after some Gryffindors made one joke too many. He shredded them! And the headmaster heard and gave him two points for 'exceeding his low expectations.' His father sent him a letter afterwards, you remember that haughty owl of his? It looked like Malfoy Sr. gave him a scolding, but Draco looked like he didn't care. It has made the other Slytherins uneasy since they don't know what to do about the change._

_Hermione has been reading about vampires like mad, in the middle of diatribes against Quirrell, whom you know she never liked. She said that what he did would be called statutory rape in the muggle world, but that you weren't exempt from blame, too. I told her to shut it, and she looked so surprised that I wish I had Creevey's camera to take her photo._

_The headmaster told us you will still take your N.E.W.T.s, though probably not at Hogwarts. How are your studies going? They got in a pretty good substitute for Quirrell, a French auror on vacation. He makes us call him Michel, which annoys Snape. Anyway, he said if I wanted to go for aurorship, he'd give a recommendation, because my duelling impressed him. I still don't know if that's what I'm going to do. I don't think I want to enter while my parents are still there. It'd be weird working for dad or mum. But some people are going to be open for apprenticeships after the exams, so I'll see. Maybe I'll go for private security instead._

_I hope this things with Quirrell doesn't derail your plans, whatever they are. You're still the best in defence, so I'm sure you'd be able to look for a good mentor or job. If ever you need help, don't hesitate to owl me._

_Yours,  
Neville_

It felt good knowing he still had someone at Hogwarts who believed in him. Neville was a pretty solid Gryffindor, brave without being foolhardy, and with good instincts. He was a friend in the same way that Draco had been one.

Reading about Draco made Harry long to write the other boy. But he had promised himself that he would let the Slytherin make the first move on resuming their friendship.

Defending him was one thing, and being actively seen as his friend quite another.

\---

Since the "clandestine affair between vampire professor and underage Triwizard champion" came out in the news, Harry became leery of leaving the house for fear of being recognized. He didn't fancy people running away from him shouting, "Vampire!" while shopping in the middle of Diagon Alley, or worse, asking to take pictures with him.

It afforded him the time to finish a lot of his readings. But within a couple of weeks he had started to become restless.

_A hand pinned him to the wall, while another slid into his hair and tugged, baring his neck. He felt his pulse pound so hard, it was as if it would jump free of his throat. He was afraid, his body trembling, but when he tried to move his arms, they became like stone. A shadow stole over him. He felt hot breath on his cheek, then go lower, beneath his ear._

_"Don't," he found himself whispering. "Don't stop."_

_And that was when the fangs sank into his skin, painful and hot and terrifying. And Harry wrapped his suddenly arms around the man's shoulders, whimpering a single name._

_"Severus."_

He woke up with pounding heart. 

At breakfast, Harry was desperate enough to beg Fred and George's help to find a way to change his appearance. He needed to leave the house, to find a distraction, to think of anything but Quirrell or vampires.

He did his best to ignore the presence of Snape in his dream, although at odd moments, the image would steal into his mind, and he would pace around the house, almost fevered with energy. Daniel watched him then, looking amused, but aside from offering to teach Harry to play the guitar, he refrained from speaking.

Harry turned it down, but he found a sort of release in the music that the older boy produced. They had been making "mix discs" of the band, and Harry let the tempo wash away all his thoughts, like a wave erodes the shore.

The twins went after the challenge with relish. After weeks of product testing and "tweaking," they presented Harry with a kit. It took only minutes to use, and when Harry gazed back at the mirror on the mantle, he nodded in approval.

He looked like a stranger. His hair was tied back and he wore a dark red wig on top of it, in the same shade as the famous Weasley clan's. It wasn't exactly for blending in, but it made his presence alongside the twins unremarkable. His glasses removed and a subtly shaded pair of contact lenses toned down his green eyes. That, and some candy to change his colouring and a lollipop to change his bone structure, all with two-hour limits, and Harry barely recognized himself.

The twins had also added fake birthmarks, moles, warts and even scars to the kit. There was one in the ridiculous shape of a lightning bolt that Harry wanted to plop onto his forehead, but he decided the more unremarkable he looked, the better. He settled for a smattering of fake pimples on his cheeks, in various stages of erupting.

And he was off.

He decided to go on a book hunting trip first of all. Headmaster Snape had given him homework after all. The other man might give him a quiz next time. Daniel lent him a rucksack of plenty, with a lightweight charm, so he need not shrink things or have anything delivered.

Flourish and Blotts had already proved useless, but Harry stopped by anyway, for a couple of books on Advanced Transfigurations and Charms. He also picked up a book of wizarding maps that, while only giving the general location of certain unplottable places, had detailed directions and diagrams of different wizarding villages all over Europe.

He distinctly remembered Quirrell telling him about his trips through Bulgaria and Romania on his last sabbatical. Maybe that was where the older man was hiding. Harry wasn't planning on hunting his ex-lover down—not that Snape would let him—but the uncertainty was killing him slowly. And maybe the maps would be useful somehow. He wished he knew how the Marauders' Map of Hogwarts had been made. The twins had given it to him after they left school, but he had passed it on soon afterwards to a second-year Slytherin prankster who was probably using it now to make Snape's life hell. The thought cheered him up a little. 

From Flourish and Blotts, Harry went down Pwyll Alley. Like Knockturn, it was small and dirty and shaded by ancient elms, though the cobblestones were newer. And right at the corner there was indeed a large bookstore with the sign Silver Quill hanging from the doorway.

Harry hurried inside, and looked up, and up, and up.

Unlike Flourish and Blotts, the place was huge, with tower-like proportions. Around him, magic ladders whizzed past shelves, carrying shoppers clinging to the rungs. A ladder slid towards Harry, so he climbed a single rung. It seemed to wait so Harry whispered uncertainly, "Vampires." With a whoosh, it carried him towards a shelf near the back and then lengthened until Harry was about fifty feet up in the air.

It was nothing like brooms. Harry waited for his stomach to catch up, before looking through the shelves. He found one, then another, then another, then even more. Harry blinked. Snape was right. This place was amazing. He had to scan through each one to know which to get. A lot of it seemed to be saying the same things, so he weeded through his selections mid-air, with one arm wrapped around the edge of the ladder.

After going up and down several shelves mixing fiction and non-fiction books on the topic, he ended up with three volumes: a fat red one containing things about hierarchies and feeding patterns, a blue one lined with gold that talked about the properties of vampire blood, and a dark brown one that talked about famous vampires—and how they were killed.

Then Harry's eye was caught by a small black volume to his right. As if reading his mind, the ladder inched him towards the book, and he slid it out of the shelf. He found himself staring open-mouthed at the cover. "Darkness Within: A Treatise on Vampirism" by Quirinus Quirrell. He was about to return it to the shelf in disgust, when it opened. And bit him.

Harry yelped, and was about to throw the book fifty feet down, when a man in a silver ladder appeared out of nowhere. "We have a store policy, sir, that once you blood it, you buy it."

Harry looked down at the red smudges on the pages. "Alright," he said in defeat, sighing. He gave the rest of the books for the man to total.

He didn't have much time left, so passed through Arawn Alley and picked up random books on potions and defence against the dark arts, as well as several blank books all tied together in the bargain bin there. In Mantou, however, he found himself gravitating once more to Arugba's tent.

"Hello again, sir. Has the cat given you great dreams?" The small man beamed up at him, his long ears twitching very much like a cat's. 

"Um, I guess," Harry said, remembering his recent, disturbing dream. It wasn't exactly a nightmare, however, and aside from that, he never saw Quirrell's face in his sleep. Was that the stone cat's doing? "And the snake protects me as well," he said, thinking of Headmaster Snape as one large snake rearing to strike. He blushed as he recollected his own reactions to the older man.

He busied himself by looking at the stones. His hands caressed the jade frog, but he abandoned it in favour of a particularly detailed phoenix in deep red stone, with open beak that looked ready to sing, and wings unfurled in mid-flight. Albus Dumbledore had had a phoenix as a familiar, they said, but Harry had never seen it.

After finally putting it aside for purchase, however, two stones similar in design caught his eye. They were puppies, one biting his tail, the other crouched as if to pounce. They were made of milky opals, with veins of red running through them.

"Ah, sir finds good gifts for good friends." Arugba's large eyes twinkled.

Harry smiled. Yes, it seemed that the stones were perfect for Daniel and the twins. "How do you know what to make? Do you start with a design? Do you use any tools?" He caught himself and ducked his head. "Sorry."

Arugba waved his apology away. "If stones interest sir, then visit my workshop. You can watch me at work, and I can answer your questions." And the artisan wrote down his address on the receipt, before tucking it into the bag with the stones.

Harry was halfway across the road towards Diagon Alley, when he realized that Arugba had seen through his disguise.

He thought about returning to quiz him, but decided against it. Already he could feel his cheekbones slowly sagging. The candy was wearing off.

Perhaps it was the fact that Arugba was a goblin, though he looked much younger than the ones Harry had met at Gringotts, and didn't give the impression that he was of that race except for his pointed ears, long nose and small stature. Perhaps he had smelled him with that nose, or perhaps goblins simply had magic different enough to see past his face. It was a puzzle he would have to solve another time.


	8. Chapter 8

Up in the attic, Harry was procrastinating.

A very noble activity. Involving a pack of cards, an open sketchpad, and sixteen shiny bright crayons.

Fifteen minutes later, with nothing to show for it but a blurry but ominously flapping crayola bat with rainbow wings, and a shaky mansion made of cards on top of his desk, Harry gave in.

He took out a book from the rucksack. It was the brown one with "Famous Vampires" embossed in dark red. Harry sat back on his bed and started reading.

_Count Dracula (Vlad the Impaler)_

_A muggle best-seller made his name a household word, and made it known the best ways to defeat vampires. (i.e. stake through the heart, rays of the sun, holy wafer, etc.) For this reason, he earned the ire of others of his kind and he is hunted wherever he goes, accompanied by the dirt of his homeland, three vampire "brides" and a human servant bonded to him by blood._

_However, his tale raises a lot of misconceptions about the abilities of vampires. While some are able to perform magic, others were muggles before they were turned and as such cannot change shape, cannot control muggles through hypnosis, and often can barely control their hunger. And still others have much greater abilities than Vlad the Impaler, depending on age and lineage._

 The book was a complete bust, composed mostly of hearsay and half-truths that contradicted each other. Stakes, knives, holy water, crosses, garlic… Harry shook his head. He'd find more use for this particular arsenal in the kitchen. And the names! Who'd ever heard of a vampire named Lestat, supposedly a well-known rock star in the seventies?

The only thing Harry gleaned from the thick book was that vampires gifted with magic were much more dangerous. They had their pick of muggles as food, and even the natural enemies of vampires—werewolves and a mysterious girl called "Slayer"—were powerless against them.

Harry leaned back, massaging his temple. He took out the blank books and examined each one curiously. At first glance, the three slim volumes seemed identical, but each one had a different coloured ribbon as page marker, as well as subtle differences in the shade of the leather and the edging and stitching.

Dipping a quill in the inkwell, Harry proceeded to write on top of the page in one volume: "BloodBinding: Notes and Observations." It sounded less threatening that way, like a case study for school. On the second page, he wrote the bit about wizard-vampires, about natural enemies, and a long list of things that are supposed to be lethal to vampires. He'd find a way to narrow them down later.

Feeling pleased at his progress, although minimal, Harry took out the rest of the books and arranged them on his shelf. He hesitated before touching the black one, afraid it might attack him yet again. But it remained mostly passive, like a dog in slumber, still growling while dreaming.

Suddenly desperate to think about something else, Harry grabbed the rock sculptures for his housemates and hurried downstairs where Fred and George were testing products and tweaking recipes.

Harry gave them the puppies and the phoenix for Daniel. They sandwich-hugged him again before returning to their product-testing. And he spent the rest of the day getting pleasantly distracted by the sight of the twins mouthing words like "cost-effective", "most efficient potency" and "market demand." They didn't even realize it. So Harry hid his smile to himself, while volunteering an idea here and there about "marketing strategies" and "reaching bigger mass targets."

Which was why, two weeks later, while Harry was skimming through the old and new books on vampires on his ever-growing shelves, and adding pages and pages of notes to his "field notebook," the twins were organizing an Event.

Daniel was roped in to perform, and George spent a long afternoon pleading with Harry to make a public appearance, just for the free publicity. Harry adamantly refused.

Fred, however, managed to compromise to take a picture of Harry trying out a Wheezes product so they could make posters out of it.

"I really don't need the hype, guys." Harry grumbled, tugging at the orange jumper the twins made them wear. "The headmaster will kill me if I make a target of myself."

Fred tinkered with the camera. "Relax, Harry. This place is journalist-proof. It's even spy-proof."

"We made sure of that after someone tried to duplicate our products. Ol' Snape helped us ward the place, and he taught us how to get patent letters on the recipes from the Potion-Masters Guild." George was rummaging through a box of the new products they were going to launch.

"Besides you're already a target, posters or no."

"But this way, everyone will know that I'm connected to you guys," Harry said worriedly.

"He has a point, George," Fred raised an eyebrow at his twin brother.

George cocked his head in thought, before a smile grew on his face. "Well they can't connect you to us directly if we use other celebrities, can they? I mean sure, they'll know that we know where you are, but they won't assume you'd be living here."

Harry listened to them throw out names of the other Triwizard champions or Quidditch stars or other possible celebrities they could use for their adverts. He sighed in defeat. "Well I suppose you could take my picture now. Just don't distribute them until all the other people have agreed." Mentally, he thought he'd go to the Event as someone else, perhaps just to listen to Daniel before slipping out to London. Maybe he could look for Arugba's place in the meantime.

The twins beamed. "Alright, Harry, we promise," Fred said with a wink.

"And Daniel could probably persuade Myron Wagtail to do it for a lark," George said happily. "We really are brilliant, aren't we?" He handed Harry a dark blue lollipop while Fred focused the camera, a large contraption standing on a tripod whose lens blinked at Harry like someone's sleepy eye.

"Now lick!"

\---

Quirrell's little volume was a mishmash of ambiguous statements that seemed to show the vampire as a brooding hero tortured by circumstances and misunderstood by general society.  
 Figures. Harry thought, snorting.

The red book only confirmed the methods of blood-binding and the many reasons why vampires choose humans to bind to themselves. Harry had pictures of himself in chains offering his neck to Quirrell dancing in his head all day long.

The blue one talked about recipes using vampire blood. There was a short paragraph on blood-binding:

_Vampiric essences have addictive properties, and thus the creatures are able to use their bite as well as sharing their blood to bind humans to them. However, unlike other addictive substances, the binding grows with every exchange of essences so that the blood/saliva/semen in small amounts has no damaging aftereffects. A combination of three, however, affects the human physiology in unexpected ways, first in totally binding him to the vampire source, next by mutating his genes to resemble the vampire's, perhaps in strength, in senses, or in speed. For this reason, an unfortunate human coming in contact with essences from different vampires either emerge unscathed or go mad with the conflicting aftereffects._

Harry didn't know whether to laugh or cry at that piece of information. He didn't know if he could risk going mad to being bound to Quirrell. Or if the two things amounted to the same thing. He didn't even know if that solution was no longer open to him. Or where he could even find another vampire to make an attempt at breaking the binding.

He needed Snape.

Harry smiled wryly, even as he tied a note to the twins' owl and watched it fly towards Hogwarts.


	9. Chapter 9

One week before the Event, the headmaster replied, setting a date for that Saturday to meet at a room above the Leaky Cauldron.

Harry didn't bother with much disguise, merely wearing a wig and the contacts to avoid being recognized. The headmaster was already there when he arrived, sipping a glass of dark green liquid and reading a book. He merely looked up when Harry came in the door, raising an eyebrow at his appearance.

Harry took off the wig and sat down across the table, while Snape closed the book with his long fingers.

"Is there any word on Quirrell?" Harry asked, somehow unable to look Snape in the eye.

Snape shook his head. "Not yet. You are momentarily safe."

Harry exhaled in relief.

"What have you discovered?" The headmaster didn't waste words.

Harry talked to him about the idea from the book.

Snape appraised him. "Interesting notion, but not feasible, Potter. After all, who could we trust to try it? And we have no idea about the time factor. It could just make things a lot worse."

Harry closed his eyes. "Well, I'm not just gonna stay here like a sitting duck waiting for him to strike."

"Of course not." Snape's eyes were hooded. "There are things you can learn that would possibly help."

"Things?" Harry opened his eyes in interest.

"Mostly meditation techniques to help you centre yourself and separate your mind from the demands of your body. Occlumency could possibly help you control your thoughts against Quirrell's influence."

Harry shook his head. "Where will I learn all that?"

Snape swirled the liquid in his glass. "We could meet here every Saturday."

Harry's eyes sought and found Snape's. "Really?"

"Yes." Snape's voice demanded no further questions.

"That's..." Harry swallowed. "Thank you."

The other man merely inclined his head before continuing. "In the meantime, I suggest you find some form of regular exercise. It might mitigate the physical effects and also prove useful against Quirrell." Snape suddenly stood up. "Now if you will excuse me, I have other business to attend to."

Harry stood up as well. "Of course. Thank you, sir." He watched the man walk out the door.

¬¬¬---

"You've gone and offered to help him, you stupid twit!" Snape raged to himself as soon as he was out of earshot. He walked down Diagon Alley with a scowl so fierce that every witch and wizard who met his gaze squeaked and hurried out of his way.

Why _had_ he offered? Snape remembered the boy's expression when he was discovered in Quirrell's arms. It was bliss. Bliss that resulted from a vampire's bite, yes, but bliss nevertheless. He clenched his fists, and bared his teeth. If he could meet Quirrell now…

Instead of that prick Black.

He passed through the doorway of The Lotus, an exclusive gentlemen's club hidden at Pwyll. The wizard guarding the door bowed nervously at him, but he barely noticed, heading straight to the bar where Sirius Black awaited.

He was already there. "Cutting it close, aren't you, Snape?" The man said, flicking his watch open languorously. He was wearing dark blue robes with two black vertical stripes down the front. His hair was immaculately groomed, and in his ringed hand, he held a glass of wine.

"My apologies," Snape said with gritted teeth. He seated himself in front of his childhood enemy, waving a hand at the bartender who placed a glass of his usual firewhiskey in front of him.

"Now what is this all about?" Sirius Black smirked openly at him. "Why has the youngest Headmaster in all of Hogwarts history graced me with his illustrious presence?"

"I need your help." Snape looked like it took bloody pliers to get him to admit those words.

Sirius Black raised an eyebrow, but otherwise did not react. Years as an auror had perfected his self-control, and for a moment, Snape let his hatred surge within him. Even in this, the other man beat him. And even after all his accomplishments, in front of the great Sirius Black, he was still Snivellus.

"Actually, it is your ward Harry Potter that needs help," he said snidely, overpowered by the sudden need to wound the other man.

Black didn't flinch, but his smile froze in place. "Ah," he said. "This is about the vampire you hired, isn't it? Tell me, how has the board reacted to this discovery?"

Snape visibly breathed deeply to control himself. "Why have you forsaken the boy?" He asked the other man point-blank.

"It is none of your business, headmaster," Black said, standing up.

"And will you continue to forsake him now?" Snape asked before Black could walk away. "Now that he needs help more than ever? Does your promise to his father really mean so little?"

"Do not speak of that fool," Black turned to him, anger robbing him of his control.

"Many have accused me of hating the boy because of his father," Snape stated baldly. "I cannot believe I am saying this to you of all people, but Lily's death and James' premature choice to join her has nothing to do with Harry."

"And since when has he become _Harry_ to you, Snape?" They were garnering attention in the bar but nobody dared interrupt.

"Since he comes to _me_ for help," Snape shot back. "Because there is no one else he can count on."

Black sat down heavily, and looked like he wanted to cry.

Snape sighed. This was going to take awhile. Oh, the things he had to do to help Harry bloody Potter.

\---

Harry bit his tongue. "Ouch," he said and stuck it out. "Ith it bleeding?" He asked George, who made a move to grab it.

"Nope. I guess someone's thinking of you," the other boy said with a wink.

"With my luck, it's Quirrell," Harry retorted, but he could not help but hope…


	10. Chapter 10

Harry enrolled in a gym near the house. He took the opportunity to explore the muggle area, pleased to discover a small coffeeshop that served excellent cakes, and a specialty store of comic books that had him browsing for hours.

The gym was small and a little shabby, but the equipment and mats were kept clean. Harry talked to the owner about a body-building program, and they decided on a combination of weight-lifting and treadmill-running to increase Harry's strength as well as stamina. The owner also invited him to daily classes in self-defence. Harry watched young girls and boys learning to kick ass in a utility room, and agreed immediately.

He had never seriously considered going for the aurors' program. Not since he found out about Sirius Black. But he had enjoyed defence in school. In fact it was the thing which brought him to Quirrell's attention.

When his housemates later learned about this new development, they teased Harry mercilessly about it. George especially, kept making him flex his arm to see his muscles. Harry finally had enough and got into a wrestling match with him.

Afterwards, Harry had grumbled that he would have won if the other two hadn't joined in. Fred ruffled his hair laughing. And Daniel winked at him.

\---

The Event was slated for a Sunday, and Harry helped out the best he could, in between visits to the gym. The thought of meeting Snape the Saturday before occupied his mind whenever he wasn't busy, so he made sure to keep his hands full.

The twins were holding it in the main street of Diagon Alley, right in front of their store. They got permission from the other stores, and even conscripted additional auror security just in case.

Harry helped paint the banner, and even distribute his posters, grimacing at his image licking a lollipop and biting into a magic candied apple with a shy smile. Sheesh! He looked like some sort of rentboy. Harry thought to himself.

Needless to say, the posters were a big hit, and the disguised Harry was mobbed by girls wanting their own copy. The twins had to reprint another batch to keep up with demand, and then George had the brilliant idea of compiling the pictures in calendar form and printing them out to be sold at the Event. No wonder business was booming.

Daniel had his own assignment. He had to write a jingle for the WWWs. George and Fred had twisted his arm somehow. But he managed to produce and record a thirty second song in the midst of practicing with his bandmates for their gigs and practicing alone for the Event. He even had a few new songs out of it. Harry didn't know how he managed it. Somehow, "magic" wasn't really an acceptable answer.

\---

Saturday morning dawned early. Harry tossed and turned all last night. He would have given it up as a lost cause, but grimacing at what Snape would say, and knowing how much he needed the rest, he finally took a sleeping potion from the twins' potions cupboard. There were a lot of vials to choose from, all varying in potency. He chose the mildest, labelled Soft Dream in Fred's chicken scratch.

These days, the stoic headmaster seemed to have a leading role in Harry's nighttime sojourns. He woke up with wet sheets a lot more often, which mortified him less than the fact that vampire bites were usually involved in their imaginary lovemaking. Was this a result of Quirrell?

That night, he had a different dream, but no less disturbing. Snape was duelling with a cloaked figure, his thin and elegant form emphasized as he parried and thrust with a long, narrow-tipped sword. Steel clashed with steel, until the two combatants were locked body to body. And then both Snape and the cloaked man turned to Harry. Snape raised an eyebrow, while the mysterious man showed not a face but darkness given eyes. And they spoke in unison. "Why should I help you?"

After he woke up, Harry took a long shower to clear his head. And afterwards he took extra care to dress well, in a pale green robe lined with the palest gold thread that barely shimmered.

\---

"What are you doing dressed like a Slytherin?" Fred immediately demanded at breakfast.

Harry shrugged. George answered before he could. "He's meeting one."

"Oh." Fred spoke the word slowly and knowingly.

Harry, to his utter mortification, blushed.

"It's nothing." He muttered, taking his place at the table and reaching for a piece of toast.

The twins somehow restrained themselves, but they kept winking at him during the meal, until Harry finally just rolled his eyes and got up.

"I'm leaving early, you twits."

George caught a sleeve. "Wait! We have something for you. And it matches your outfit perfectly." His smile turned even more suspicious.

Fred was holding out an animal. On closer look it appeared to be a wig. A white-blond wig, perfectly straight, longer than usual, but tied back in a green clip.

"I am not going out there looking like Lucius Malfoy!"

Lucius Malfoy was a pretty well-known guy, with what people called magic fingers that turned whatever he touched into gold. Not literally, although you never do know with wizards.

He owned several businesses down Diagon and Knockturn Alley and in the muggle world as well. He knew how to cover his bases.

Harry met him a few times after getting to know his son Draco at Hogwarts. Draco was a miniature Lucius in training, but Harry's friendship had changed him, mellowed him somewhat.

Lucius had met with Harry and warned him away from Draco.

Dramatic as the gesture was, it didn't work on Harry. But it did on Draco. Within a year, they were enemies, rivals, each other's worst nightmares.

But Harry still remembered their last detention together with Filch. They were scrubbing at the trophies, their backs to each other. Harry had jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Draco, looking unusually solemn.

"I'm sorry about this, Har." Draco had whispered to him.

Harry smiled back at him, squeezing his hand before they got back to scrubbing.

After that they ignored each other completely, and the fighting and detentions stopped. Draco made friends in his own house, and Harry became closer with Ron and Hermione. But sometimes, Harry thought, Draco would look at him in that particular way and he would know that he still mattered to the other boy.   
The memories were sufficient to distract Harry's attention. And he was in front of the Leaky Cauldron before he knew it, long blond hair swinging in the breeze. George had also given him something to change his colouring, make it paler to match the hair.

He was an hour early, so he traced his steps and stopped at Fortescue's for a cone, trying to kill time. He amused himself by thinking of it literally, and he recalled his dream of sword fighting, imagining time as a large wall clock with arms that blocked his thrusts.

Swordsmanship was still valued among the purebred wizards, as Draco had once told him. The other boy had been undergoing lessons since he was four or five, and had once offered to teach him, but his father had prevented it from ever happening.

Munching on a raspberry mint cone, he sat outside watching Diagon Alley wake up. WWW's was still closed, although Violet, the twins' assistant, was scheduled to open shop on weekends. She was about due in a few minutes.

Harry looked at the big clock that towered over the small buildings down Arawn Alley, and his stomach lurched; it was time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much happens in this chapter either. Lol. Thanks for all your reviews, guys!


	11. Chapter 11

Harry Potter entered the Leaky Cauldron, barely glancing at Tom. He didn't want to lie to the barkeeper and the way he looked now, he might really be mistaken for Lucius Malfoy, whom Tom hated ever since Malfoy tried to buy him out.

He walked up the stairs to the room Headmaster Snape had rented for the day, as if walking towards his own execution. He stopped at the room; there were a few shimmering lines crisscrossing over the entire door, barely visible in the dim hallway. After attempting to get his breathing under control—and failing—Harry knocked with trepidation.

The door opened by itself, and the shimmer of lines twisted to let him in. Harry walked inside, with heart in throat.

Severus Snape was early, which he had more or less expected. He was also—a stray merlin save me flitted through Harry's consciousness—dressed in a red robe clasped at his throat with a piece of carved ebony. The rest was open, and beneath them, Harry could see black slacks tailored to the man's long legs.

Harry stood there agape for a whole minute, before Snape turned to him.

"Is something the matter, Potter?" Snape's words were kind, but his tone was derisive.

"N-no, sir." Harry tried to get himself under control. His eyes wandered around the room, and got caught by the object on the table: a quincy cross, five-pointed, against a silver circle, hanging on a silver chain as fine as angel's hair. It was a holy object from the middle ages, rumoured to have been worn by a saint. It was said to be particularly potent against vampires.

Against Quirrell. Harry sighed. The mere thought of his ex-lover and he was able to still his thrumming heart. "What is that for?" He asked, gesturing at the necklace.

"I assume you know what it is?" Severus raised an eyebrow.

Harry nodded. "I read about it, yes. It's supposed to have disappeared hundreds of years ago."

"I know someone whose ancestor appropriated it from the monastery where it was hidden," Snape informed him. "It is an artifact particularly sensitive to vampires. It will temporarily hide you from Quirrell."

"Temporarily?" Harry asked as he watched Snape walk towards the table to pick up the holy object.

"It will work as long as it recognizes you as human. As your particular symptoms progress, it will react against you and will be rendered useless." Severus handed him the necklace and gestured impatiently at a chair by the window. "Now come. I don't have much time to dawdle."

Harry immediately fastened the chain around his neck. "Thank you, headmaster."

"Severus." Snape whispered.

"What?" Harry's eyes widened as he looked up, catching Snape's eye.

"You are no longer a student of Hogwarts." Severus stated in a steady voice, as he regarded him calmly, as if challenging him to disagree.

"But I'm still a student of yours," Harry countered. At the other man's frown, however, he added. "Severus it is, then," in a cheerful voice. He ignored the funny feeling in his heart and sat down as directed. "Now what?"

Severus regarded him silently. "What do you know of the art of the sword?"

"I never learned it," Harry replied promptly. "Draco was going to teach me a little, but…" He shrugged.

"Draco?" Severus said as if in question. But he shook his head. "Never mind that. I suppose we'll have to find you a master."

"I thought I was here to learn this occlumency," Harry argued.

"The discipline of the mind depends on the discipline of the body," the headmaster informed him.

"So why can't _you_ teach me?"

Severus sighed. "It was a pureblood pursuit, and in my youth, I was quite prejudiced against the lot. Since then I've learned the basics, but not well enough to be anyone's master."

"You mean you're not…" Harry looked at him in shock, but controlled his expression with effort. "Well what did you use to discipline your body then?" At the word 'body' he had to fight off a raging blush.

"Potion-making uses both mind and body, thus it was easier for me to learn the art." Severus looked like he was trying hard not to smirk at Harry's reaction. The boy really was an open book.

"Who taught you occlumency then?" Harry asked, curiosity colouring his voice.

"Albus Dumbledore," Severus replied.

"Oh."

"Now, if the interrogation is over, can we begin our lessons?" Severus asked archly.

Harry shrugged. "Alright."

Severus took out a white bowl with some sort of liquid swirling inside it. "This is a pensieve."

\---

"The boy needs a master."

Sirius Black regarded his childhood nemesis. "I already gave you the cross, Snape."

"If you are not willing to teach him, perhaps you may recommend another swordsman," Severus rebutted calmly. "Frankly, I am not sure I can convince him to be your pupil. The boy seems to hate your guts from what I've seen."

"Oh, I am heartbroken," Black said sarcastically. "Why would he need to learn the sword, anyway? It won't help him quickly enough. He'll never master it in time to meet Quirrell head-on."

Severus Snape shifted in his chair across from the other man. "First of all, merely learning the basics will help him master his own actions and thoughts. Learning to handle a weapon will also help if he fights an opponent with greater strength. If they do end up in battle, Quirrell will want it as _close-range_ as possible, which does not bode well for Harry."

Something dark passed over his face, and Sirius, ever observant, caught it.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were in love with my charge, Snape," He taunted the other man.

Severus controlled himself just barely. "Your charge? Why the sudden possessiveness, Black? You haven't really claimed him, after all."

"And yet mine he is more than he will ever be yours," Sirius growled.

"Do you really believe that, Black?" Severus leaned forward, hands interlocked on the table in front of him, his dark gaze penetrating. "James and Lily may have left him to your care, but you do not really know him. I pity you, Black. All you see is the friend that you lost. The boy deserves to be known for himself."

Sirius breathed sharply, before visibly reining in his temper. He nodded to Severus in acknowledgment. "Ever the Slytherin, Snape." His voice had a touch of venom, but it was mixed with capitulation, and the other man interpreted it correctly.

"I will arrange a meeting. If you conceal your identity long enough, you could perhaps gain his trust." Severus tried hard not to smirk. "Twice a week will suffice, I suppose."

"If I am to be his master, it is not his trust that I require, merely his respect," Black said almost petulantly. He looked down at his glass as if contemplating the universe in its crimson depths.

Snape inclined his head, declining to press the issue. It was still a victory, and he had fought it for the sake of the young man. He smiled ironically to himself. _It never occurred to you, has it, that if the boy becomes loyal to this mongrel, then you might lose him completely._

Perhaps he wasn't Slytherin enough after all

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reward for your patience. :P


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry no swordfighting yet. Haha. Next chapter, promise...

It was pandemonium. Harry fidgeted in his disguise, though he could barely move among the crowd of screaming witches and wizards. It figures: Daniel was onstage.

He could barely see a glimpse of Fred Weasley smirking from behind the stage. George was absent; he was probably making sure the program schedule was not running late. After months of living with the twins, Harry was surprised to discover that he could now tell them apart. George was a bit of a stickler for details, while it was Fred who often thought things up on the fly. George was infinitesimally taller, and bossier, and yet more sensitive to other people. Fred liked to ham it up, and was more physically affectionate, and had more freckles on his nose, and he was the better cook.

They made a great team.

Harry smiled wistfully. And the crooner—who even now was singing something about lollipops and sugar rushes and love on the stage in electric blue robes that skimmed the lines of his body—balanced the two of them perfectly. It was enough to make one claustrophobic with envy.

After Daniel finished his song, and the crowd surged as one towards the stage—where of course the twins had erected magical countermeasures for such an ambush—Harry decided he had stayed long enough. It was obvious that the Event was a success, and he doubted the twins would need his presence as moral support, as George had claimed after suffering an attack of nerves. Apparently, creative geniuses needed a lot of care and attention, and Harry had been inundating the two with reassurances all that morning.

But he wasn't needed here anymore. He elbowed his way to the back, finding an oasis of space against the brick wall near the corner just beside the exit into The Leaky Cauldron.

He entered the establishment, which to him felt a lot like home, and pretended to be some random stranger so he could ask Tom about the street where wizarding artisans had their workshops and studios. His plans to visit a friend were long overdue.

\---

He found Arugba's workshop beside a small building—a potter's workshop by the looks of it, for there were glazed bowls stacked in the window display, and distantly he could hear the growl of some magical kiln. Harry wondered if he had any relatives in such a business. He had found that, in wizarding society, names could be very important. He could very well have descended from a great family making vases and plates for centuries.

On the other side was a shop, for a sign proclaimed it open on the door. There were gemstone mobiles and dreamcatchers and chimes hanging from the ceiling, barely seen through the tiny porthole that served as window.

In the middle of these two buildings was Arugba's workshop. It was a tall, thin building with walls of discoloured brick and a single door inset with grimy windows. Harry only found it by the faded sign over the entrance: a chisel behind an egg-shaped rock half carved into an eaglet with outspread wings. He had recognized it from the one imprinted on Arugba's tent at Mantou. He opened the door, and heard a crystal bell ring as he peered around it. 

The stone smith was sitting on a small chair, bent over an equally small desk. He looked up and almost jumped in surprise when he saw his visitor. He stood up and gave the younger boy a huge grin. Again, he seemed to see right through the short brown wig and the changed face, recognizing Harry even though he had never used this disguise before.

"Welcome!" He exclaimed, his stretched lips and twinkling eyes evidence of his pleasure. He gestured for Harry to enter into the tiny dwelling, and offered a wooden stool fit for the boy's height. "Come to watch or to work?"

"I don't want to be a bother," Harry began, but the tiny stone smith waved his words away. 

"It is an honour to teach a student who wants to learn," Arugba replied solemnly. "The craft," he continued. "It demands a lot from any creature. It is not for everyone. And if it choose you, then you must choose it back." He went to a cupboard and retrieved a tiny bucket, placing it on his table. It was filled with rocks. "Pick one, Harry Potter."

It was the first time he had used Harry's name, which he had never given him.

Harry hesitated for a moment, surprised at this task. He reluctantly reached over, but gained enthusiasm when he had his hand deep in the rocks. He allowed them to pass through his hand while he sifted, until one unprepossessing stone made his heart leap for a second. He offered it silently to the stone smith, who nodded thoughtfully.

"I knew Harry had the touch."

"The touch?" Harry asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"Many humans do not feel anything from a stone before it is spelled. But to make a stone into something, you need to respond to it."

"But what about the other rocks? They didn't feel like anything to me."

Arugba shrugged, rubbing one thumb over Harry's chosen stone, which somehow made it seem smoother. "They are not ready for smithing."

Harry opened his mouth to question this further, but at Arugba's look of concentration, lapsed into silence.

"This is not a light thing, I offer to you, Harry Potter. Stone by nature is heavy and those who work with it must bear it wherever they go. It has chosen you. Will you choose it back?" Arugba offered the stone back to him. It shimmered in his open palm.

Harry took it. "I will." It felt like a promise, or like a reenactment of an ancient ritual. But Arugba merely smiled at him, his face crinkling into a million folds. 

"Then first, Harry must talk to the stone."

\---

On the way home, after sucking on another candy to keep up his changed appearance, Harry found himself staring at the cobblestones beneath his feet. He extended all his senses, like Arugba had taught him, and felt them hum. Master Arugba had also taught him the differences among igneous rocks, metamorphic, and sedimentary ones. They were easy enough to distinguish magically, for one tasted of fire, while the other was heavier, and more patient, and the third was light and felt fragile in his hands. 

In his pocket, the simple metamorphic rock was now a circular pendant with ridges in a spiral. At the centre was a snake's head. As soon as he got home, he would thread a length of leather cord and wear it beside the quincy cross over his heart.

The thought made him feel better, especially remembering Arugba's exclamation of approval at the detail of scales he had managed to will into being. But he was so tired. No act of magic had ever drained him this fast before. 

Arugba ordered him to come the week after. The exercise was merely to test his natural aptitude. They would begin in the beginning; he was to bring a chisel and a hammer. He was going to learn a thing or two about carving. Without magic.


	13. Chapter 13

The clang of swords in his dreams woke him up. 

Harry groaned, and when his shoulder cramped up, he groaned even deeper. Twice a week after The Event, Headmas… _Severus_ had made him meet a sword-master in an empty hall with walls of glass. Twice a week, he was put to his paces, following drill after endless drill for hours, until the sword-fighting had entered his dreams, and his arm felt like a cudgel attached to his socket. 

He still met with Arugba, even though the chiseling aggravated the symptoms. The goblin was a patient teacher, a sharp contrast to the usually grumpy or sarcastic goblins at the bank. Under his tutelage, Harry found himself striving to please, and he enjoyed making something out of the rock. 

“Art soothes the spirit,” Daniel had told him, while he strummed his guitar. 

Fred chimed in. “I disagree. Art is meant to disturb.”

“As long as it makes money, art can be anything,” George added, though by his smile, you could tell he didn’t mean it.

Harry laughed. “It just makes me feel more normal, that’s all.” He absently touched the two pendants hanging side by side around his neck. “It helps me forget.”

\---

“Bend your wrist, not your elbow, you idiot!” The teaching instructor barked at Harry, which made him flinch in surprise. He obeyed the directive again and again until the older man was satisfied. His brief nod was the only signal on his blank face. 

Severus had introduced him as Mr. Stark, although he had demanded to be called master. He was ordinary of face, with long brown hair tied back, and dark eyes covered by sparse brows. He held in one hand a sword with a tapered point and an elaborate hand guard. His grip was light, as if the metal was needle thin. And he had more strength than his slight form belied, as Harry had discovered with one parry. 

Harry’s own sword was a dulled blade, average in both length and width. It was not spelled to be light, and Stark had disparaged him for the question, and the dishonour that it implied. The old man reminded Harry of Severus, back when they first met in the Great Hall of Hogwarts. But although Severus had changed his attitudes towards him, he was too physically exhausted to think of Stark ever doing the same.

“Now do a crescent to the right, followed by a thrust upwards towards my shoulder,” Stark ordered, falling automatically into en garde position. Harry did the same.

An hour of work, with a short break in which Stark disappeared into some door for ten minutes, followed by another hour of drills and practice bouts. Stark had told him to go running to build up his stamina, and to lift weights to gain strength. So in the afternoon, he would visit the gym. It had become a routine after a month and a half, and even though Stark never let up on him, some positions and movements were slowly becoming _natural_. His feet no longer threatened to wobble from beneath him. His arms no longer trembled with fatigue. 

He should be happy, shouldn’t he? Then why was his neck always itching when he and this mysterious Mr. Stark was in the same room?

\---

“How are things going?” Severus asked him after their weekly occlumency lesson. “You seem to be improving your mental control.”

Harry almost blushed at the compliment. “That’s wonderful, because Master Stark had all but declared that I’m an incompetent bungler with a sword.”

Severus raised an eyebrow. “He is effective because he is so strict, Harry. But nobody becomes a master swordsman in weeks. Perhaps you both expect too much too soon.”

“Are you sure you can trust Stark?” Harry voiced a thought that had kept nagging at him every time he faced his master’s sword. “I don’t even know if he’s a wizard, much less whether he is Dark or Light.”

The headmaster looked momentarily speechless, before slowly replying. “He is a wizard, Harry, and certainly a strong and powerful one. Whether or not he can be trusted, however, is up to you. He will not betray you to Quirrell if that is what you are asking.”

Harry shrugged, as if to dispel the tension he had heard in Severus’ voice. “That’s good to know at least.”

“If you wish, he could teach you to duel with magic as well,” Severus spoke with obvious reluctance.

“Has he offered to?” Harry asked, with narrowed eyes. 

The older man looked uncomfortable. “He has expressed his approval of your skills, though in the vaguest terms.”

Harry’s mouth opened in shock. “But he hates my guts!”

“Some things are not as they seem.” And he rose from the chair in obvious dismissal. 

\---

In the weeks that passed, nothing really changed outwardly, aside from the added lessons. Harry still endured the scathing criticisms and sore muscles. But he was less likely to complain about them to the twins afterwards. And slowly, Stark stopped adding insults to his intelligence during training. He still spoke abruptly, his face blank, and his eyes intense. 

Harry was amazed to discover how expressive Severus’ face was in comparison. The weekly occlumency lessons now felt like a prize, especially when he managed to block Severus’ legilimency and instead caught glimpses of the other man’s memories. 

He soon found it was not enough, and had a nagging urge to peek into the pensieve that held certain moments that Severus wanted to keep from him. 

\---

“You’re not planning on challenging Quirrell to a duel are you?” Fred asked half-jokingly over dinner one night. The twins had caught him practicing sword strokes with an old umbrella in the study.

“Severus told me he didn’t list swordsmanship in his qualifications when he applied for DADA instructor,” Harry said in between huge bites. His appetite had been growing, especially for steaks and hamburger. He refused to think about the reasons for it. 

“Of course, he didn’t write vampire either, did he?” George folded his arms.

“It’s not a qualification; it’s a disease,” Harry retorted indignantly. “I mean look at me, for instance. If I did turn out to be a vampire, it’s not my fault is it? What if some creep had turned him, too?”

Fred shook his head in exasperation, while George leaned forward. “Are you defending him, Harry?”

Harry frowned in mid-bite. Was he?

“And for your information,” Daniel announced from beside him, “vampire or not, he violated his contract as a teacher by going after a student, especially one who isn’t of age. And he certainly was in control of himself if he manipulated you into a relationship. Whatever Quirrell is, he’s not a victim, Harry.”

\---

Harry had just finished making a lotus flower out of a nugget of quartz, when something suddenly burned at his collarbone. 

He yelped, and tore at his clothes. He grasped the silver chain and tore it from his neck, throwing it away as quickly as he could. It clattered against the wall and fell on the floor of Arugba’s workshop.

Arugba watched this all curiously. He was the one who picked up the necklace which held the quincy cross and the curled-up snake pendant. The five-sided cross was still smoking. He carefully separated it from the chain with a pair of tongs, dropping it in a bucket of water by the door. It hissed most alarmingly. The rest he handed back to Harry, who took it with a trembling hand.

“Harry needs to leave now,” the goblin announced.

For a moment, Harry choked on unshed tears. Was the stone smith sending him away out of fear?

“But first, I have ointment for burn.” 

He watched while Arugba climbed up a ladder to the top shelf, removing a small earthen jar. Its smell wafted down and soothed Harry even before his master dabbed at the burn on his skin. The pain immediately disappeared.

“Harry, go home to rest now. Tomorrow, come back and we will make the setting for your flower. It will make a nice ring, won’t it?” Arugba smiled at him gently.

Harry nodded in gratitude. In his hand he clutched the snake pendant. Was this the beginning of the end?


	14. Chapter 14

Harry sent an owl to Severus as soon as he got home from Arugba’s workshop. Several hours later, he was still pacing round and round the study when the fire turned green and the headmaster’s familiar face appeared. 

“This had better be important!” Severus growled out.

Harry stopped in shock. It had been awhile since he had heard that tone of voice. Was it the year before, when he had been caught sneaking out past curfew to the kitchens for a midnight snack?

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” he stuttered out. 

Severus stared at him for a second, before he sighed and with obvious effort calmed himself. “I apologize, Harry. It has been a long day. Could you tell me what’s wrong?”

Harry didn’t trust his voice, so he unbuttoned his shirt, showing the older man the burn on his collarbone shaped like a star, from the five-tipped quincy cross he had been wearing.

“I left the cross with Master Arugba,” he said softly. “I’ll get it back for you tomorrow.”

After a pause, Severus said roughly. “I’m coming through.”

Harry stepped back and watched as the headmaster traveled through the floo connection. 

“It’s no big deal, really,” he blurted out while Severus dusted the soot from his robes. “Master Arugba gave me a salve to numb the pain. I just thought you should know.”

“You were right,” Severus said abruptly. “Now come here.” He beckoned him closer.

Harry reluctantly obeyed. And then he sucked in a breath when Severus ran a finger across the burn.

“Does it hurt?” 

Harry shook his head, unable to speak. 

“What triggered it?” Severus asked, and his quiet tone washed over Harry like cool water.

“I don’t know. I was just smithing a quartz. Do you think it was the stone magic?” Harry asked apprehensively. He didn’t want to stop learning under Master Arugba’s care.

“Describe what you felt, exactly.” 

Harry fidgeted under the older man’s intense gaze while he tried to remember the moment the cross started to burn. “When I’m doing stone magic,” he tried to explain, “it feels like a slow pulling, like when you get memories for the pensieve, except that I am pulling magic from my body.”  ”Go on,” Snape said when he paused.

“I-I think before the cross acted up, the pulling stopped, or stuttered anyway.” Harry shook his head. “As if something is blocking the magic. Will vampirism affect how much magic I have?”

Severus shook his head. “No. It is more likely that the magic is unstable because your body is undergoing changes that require a certain amount at your core. I told you the cross could only protect you for as long as you remain untainted. Consider this the first step.”

“Will I grow fangs next?” Harry tried to joke, but he felt weary and terrified at the same time.

“You might develop a sensitivity to the sun,” Severus replied. “Come to my office, and I’ll give you something for it.” He led the boy through the floo into his office at Hogwarts.

Harry stepped into the office through the roaring fire. It was as neat as he remembered, with the large table in dark wood, where a stack of paperwork sat beside a row of quills and an ink stand. A straight-backed chair stood in front of the desk, and another behind it. On the walls near the ceiling, the portraits of former headmasters hung. They gazed at him curiously and he had to stop himself from fidgeting. He suddenly remembered the last time he was here, when Snape had told him he was expelled.

The headmaster followed behind him, heading straight for a cabinet in the back of the room, beside a door that led to his chambers. Harry quashed the sudden urge to peek into the other man’s bedroom. 

He watched Severus pick out a round and squat jar with a glass top from among the bottles inside the cabinet, and hand it to him.

“You may want to wear long sleeves for awhile, and the moment you feel the sun is hurting you, use this on your face and hands,” he instructed.

Harry opened the jar top and smelled the contents. It had a sharpness that made his eyes water. “You made this for me?”

Severus did not reply, but his face was answer enough.

“Thank you,” Harry said, dropping his head as he suddenly couldn’t meet the other man’s eyes. “You’re doing so much for me.”

“It is nothing,” Severus said, stepping forward, and almost raising his hand to touch the boy’s face. “We will continue with your schedule, but you will note down whatever out of the ordinary occurs, so we might be more prepared.”

“But how do we stop it?” Harry asked desperately. He looked up and was surprised at how close Severus was to him. He blushed and stepped away, and then regretted it at the look in the other man’s eyes.

Severus shook his head and visibly reined in his emotions. It would not do to add to the boy’s burdens. “I have been trying to look through ancient texts for any hints of a cure, but for now the only sure-fire way to stop this is to kill Quirrell.”

Harry wrapped his arms around himself. “I don’t think I can just kill anyone, not even him.”

“Are you still in love with that charlatan?” Severus could not keep the accusation out of his voice.

“No,” Harry spoke defensively. “No, I’m not. But there’s a big difference between not loving someone and wanting to kill him in cold blood.”

“So you don’t hate him enough.” 

Harry shook his head, clutching the jar in his hands. “I don’t know.”

Severus sighed. “You might find out when you become a monster like him, but by then it will be too late.”

“Too late?” 

“Too late to kill him. A vampire can never kill his sire. Not and survive with his sanity intact.”

“If ever that happens,” Harry choked out. “If ever that happens, kill me.”

“No!” Severus had gripped the boy’s arms without realizing. “No,” he repeated. “Never.”

Harry looked up into his dark eyes and, for a moment, felt hope.

\---

But for the extra care with his clothes, and the use of the magical sunscreen, life went back to normal for Harry. The twins tested the salve in the jar from the headmaster, and promised to reproduce more for him if he needed it. Arugba gave him the quincy cross the next day, wrapped in a leather pouch. It did not burn him, but still tingled through his hands. He was still able to do stone magic, but in shorter bursts before he felt his magic stuttering again.

And in front of Master Stark, it was as if nothing happened. He did not share anything about the cross, figuring that Severus would tell the other man if he thought it necessary. They still did sword-fighting for an hour, and duelling for another. He still treated Harry like a barely intelligent amoeba. 

It almost comforted him. Almost.

After a week of aches and pains, he welcomed with a smile a missive from Neville delivered by a Hogwarts owl.

_Guess what, Harry? I got accepted as apprentice to Sirius Black! My dad is so proud he’s bursting at the seams. He’s told me stories all about Mr. Black back when they were at the Auror Academy together. He graduated top of his class, and earned medals left and right his first few years there. They still don’t know why he retired, but he came to see me one weekend, and the next week, he said he’d take me on. Isn’t that great?_

_When he said he was coming to see me, I was bloody scared, because I’ve heard all sorts of things about the Great and Noble House of Black. Malfoy’s mum was one, for instance. Besides, he’s a hero, and I didn’t have any idea what I’d say to him face to face. When I wrote him a letter to introduce myself, my quill was practically shaking._

_We met at the headmaster’s office. I heard a rumour he and Snape hated each other but they were polite enough. Anyway, he’s intimidating in person, but he told me he’d teach me all sorts of neat stuff: duelling and tracking and even sword-fighting! He’s one of the best sword-master in Britain, they say so it’s an honour to be chosen as student. Anyway, I just thought you’d like to know. My dad says Mr. Black was your dad’s best friend, so I might introduce you if you’d like. Just say the word!_

Harry crumpled the parchment until it was a ball in his hands. He did not need to read about how big a hero Sirius Black had been. The man could not even be bothered to ask after him when the news of Quirrell had leaked out. 

But Harry found himself smoothing the letter out and reading it again with furrowed brow. There was something about Neville’s words that nagged at him…


	15. Chapter 15

“Hold your thoughts firm!” Severus barked out. Harry struggled to keep calm, but he found himself increasingly distracted. Severus managed to push through his mental shields. He had a brief glimpse of a memory with the twins, trying out some products, before the young man managed to expel him.

“If I were Quirrell, you’d be a monster by now!” Severus gritted out.

“I’m sorry. I’ll do better, I promise.” Harry tried to convince the headmaster.

“If you will not take this seriously, Potter,” Severus found himself speaking irately, “then perhaps I should leave. I’m a busy man. I don’t have time to waste on you.”

He stifled the urge to run his hand through his hair and instead rose from the chair and turned to leave. 

“Severus, wait.” Harry stood up to stop him. 

Severus sighed, but he whirled around to face Harry. “What?” He bit out.

Harry paused for a second while biting his lower lip, before asking. "What is Stark's real name?" Staring straight into the other man’s eyes, he silently cast legilimency. 

Black's name rose to the surface of Severus’ thoughts even as he sought to pull his shields into place. 

Harry felt a captive growl escape from his chest at this confirmation of his doubts. He didn’t know that his eyes glinted red or that his magic flickered in the air. Before Severus could stop him, he left the room at a run, heading for the floo towards the hall where he had lessons with Stark.

“Bloody hell,” Severus cursed himself. He pinched his nose and, for a moment, entertained the notion of leaving Harry to it.

\---

Sirius Black was standing beside a mahogany table with long elegant sweeping legs. He was staring at the flask in his hand. Snape had been brewing him his Polyjuice these past few weeks, and he was sick of the taste of some muggle’s hair clippings drowned in the noxious potion. 

The fireplace across the room glowed green and with a whoosh, a young man stepped out. Black whirled around in surprise. He swore he still had an hour at the least before Potter would come!

“So it _is_ you.” Harry clenched and unclenched his hands, his red eyes boring straight into Black’s.

“Harry,” Sirius began.

“Don’t call me that,” Harry growled. “You have no right to.”

“Potter, then.” Sirius struggled to speak calmly. “So now you know. What of it? I’d think you’d be grateful that someone bothers to try and teach you.”

“You’ve never wanted anything to do with me. So why now?” Harry snarled, his hand instinctively going to the pommel of his practice sword, which he wore at his hip. “Did you feel sorry for the poor, ickle, vampire bitten boy?” With a clang, he slid it out of its sheath.  

_He sounds like Snape._ Sirius thought for one startled moment, as he drew his own sword. “I helped you because Snape asked me to.”

“And you’d do everything he asks, I suppose, because I can see quite well how you’d be the best of friends.” Sarcasm dripped off Harry’s words as he stalked towards Black, swinging his sword in an arc.

“Your father was my best friend.” Sirius sounded like he was trying to convince himself even as he parried the younger man’s blows.

“And you _left_ me with Vernon Dursley. You _abandoned_ me. I don’t want _anything_ to do with you, Black.” Harry was too angry to feel his lengthening canines, even as he thrust with the sword.

“Your father killed himself,” Sirius growled back, for a moment transported to the past. He dodged the blow, backing to the other side of the room. “I didn’t know he was such a coward.”

The floo glowed green again, and Severus arrived just in time to hear Harry speak. “And so the sins of the father are borne by the son.” He watched in horror as Harry threw the sword to the side and tackled Black to the ground.

“Stop this immediately!” Severus thundered. He drew his wand and uttered a spell to draw them apart. Two bodies slammed into opposite walls, and with another spell, he held them immobile. Black looked murderous, but his expression was mild compared to Harry’s. The young man looked like a beast, and he growled as he was trapped by Snape’s spell, saliva dripping off his elongated teeth. 

“Control yourself, Harry James Potter!” Severus all but shouted. 

For a moment, Harry looked like he wanted nothing more than to go for someone’s throat, and the air around him shimmered with his own magic as he struggled against the spell. But he hesitated, and a spark of recognition crossed his face.

“Control your self,” Severus repeated in a softer voice. “Lest your hatred turns you into what you fear the most.”

Harry closed his eyes, and tried to clear his mind. He let the headmaster’s voice wash over him, like water over stone. Severus continued to talk him down, soothing him, and walking him through his mental exercises. He only felt his sharpened teeth when they slowly became blunt, and he realized there was blood in his mouth.

He looked over to Sirius Black, who had calmed down enough to stand and dust off pants.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Harry asked reluctantly.

The sword-fighter shook his head but declined to speak.

Severus stared at Harry with deliberation before cancelling his spell. “Will you be alright now?” He asked softly.

“I guess,” Harry answered, but he was looking at the floor. 

“Nothing I say or do can change the past, Potter,” Sirius spoke. “I don’t allow myself to regret my actions.”

“But one can repair it,” Severus interjected softly.

“If possible.” Harry snorted at the other man’s words. But Sirius couldn’t blame him. 

Awkward silence reigned for a moment before Sirius broke it. “Your offensive moves need work, Potter.” He spoke. “I still have a free afternoon.”

Harry chuckled wryly, even as he picked up his sword where it had landed. “I don’t know if I trust myself to spar with you right now.” 

“Perhaps if I observe?” Severus offered. 

Sirius raised an eyebrow, before extending his sword hilt first towards the other man. “I have a better idea.”

\---

Harry forced himself to calm down, but his heart was pounding in his chest as he parried another strike. Barely.

“Pay attention!” Severus hissed at him, and for a second he remembered their occlumency lessons. From the side of the room, Sirius Black watched them, calling out adjustments in Harry’s stance or wrist movements, but more often lapsing into silence, watching them.

Harry ignored him, but Black remained an invisible elephant in the room. Harry let the movements clear his mind of anything else. He turned his leg this way, circled his wrist, and raised his elbow, as if in some mindless ceremonial dance. But he couldn’t stop himself from grinning back when Severus smiled tightly in approval. 

His heart was pounding in his chest, but there was no rage and no fear. That will rush in the spaces of his mind later, _later._ When he let it.

For now, he enjoyed dancing with Severus. Who was dancing back.

\---

“We’ll talk of this later,” Severus called out to Sirius after an hour of practice has passed and they had surrendered their swords. 

With a firm hand, he led an unusually compliant Harry into the floo. “Love Nest,” he called out, and Harry would have laughed at the words in the headmaster’s mouth, but he felt too tired to do anything but follow.

He landed in the sitting room, and with a sigh, sat down on an arm chair upholstered in faded chintz. Very Molly-esque, and the thought comforted him. Severus stood a foot away, gazing at him.

“It’s alright,” Harry tried to smile. “You can shout at me now. I know you have things to say.”

“And will you hear them?” Severus asked with an arched eyebrow. “You look like you’ll benefit more from a warm bath than anything.” Then he ruined the sarcasm by blushing.

Harry sat up in sudden interest. “What’s going on in that head of yours, Severus?” He could not help but ask. “Do tell.”

Severus cleared his throat. “I’d really rather not, Potter. And no legilimency, please. Once is enough in one day.”

“Your own fault for letting your shields down,” Harry shot back, although he looked apologetic. The use of his last name did not go unnoticed, however, and he grinned at the poor attempt of the headmaster to distance himself. Too little, too late.

Severus silently agreed, but only answered with a grunt. He had not expected an offensive attack, since their lessons were concentrating mostly on defence. As for his own shields, he found they were less firm than he’d liked whenever he was in the company of the boy. And _boy_ he still was, he reminded himself.

“Whatever you think of your guardian,” he began hesitantly, when it became obvious that Harry was waiting. “Whatever shortcomings he has in regards to rearing you, he certainly cares for your continued survival. And I thought perhaps the sword-fighting could become a step towards a reconciliation of sorts.”

“Not bloody likely,” Harry said under his breath.

But Severus ignored the comment. “I know it sounds manipulative of me. But to tell you the truth, it was a comfort to know that someone else was looking out for you, especially in regards to Quirrell’s legacy. Black gave me the quincy cross, and he has also been researching Quirrell’s whereabouts. And of course, he’s one of the best sword-masters in Britain, as you’ve no doubt seen for yourself. He knows a lot more about the Dark Arts than anyone I know.”

“Well of course he does. He’s a Black, isn’t he?” Harry had read all about the Ancient House of Black. Sirius’ grandfather had been arrested for dealing with necromancy, his father had died after a Dark Arts experiment exploded in his face, and his cousin Bellatrix had tried to kill her half-blood niece, after Nymphadora Tonks was born of Andromeda Black and muggle-born Ted Tonks. She was in a sanitarium for the magically insane.

“Every pureblood family has one or two bad seeds,” Severus informed him, “Even the Weasleys, although they are not perhaps as notorious.”

“Well I don’t want his help.” Harry crossed his arms and looked like a petulant child. 

“He was grieving, Harry and not thinking clearly back then.” Severus stepped towards him. “You know very well the stigma of suicide in our society. I’m certain a part of him wanted you away from that.”  

”And a part of him couldn’t be bothered to look after a child left in his care.”

“He isn’t James.”

Harry looked up in surprise. “I know that.”

  ”I don’t think you do,” Severus said, staring into his eyes. “I think you’re angry at your father’s abandonment, but he’s not around to take the blame is he?”

“Maybe.” Harry was tired, and he rubbed his eyes and yawned. “I don’t know what I feel.”

“Sleep will, perhaps, cure that.” Severus’ voice was gentle. “You have used up a lot of energy fighting off the blood binding. And you are exhausted from practice. Take it easy for a couple of days.”  

Harry nodded his acquiescence. “I’ll owl Master Arugba tomorrow.” He looked up. “What does it mean? My teeth changing I mean. Did I almost become a-a vampire?”

“Strong emotions cause the blood pathogens to agitate, thus precipitating your change. But for now, it is preventable. In a few months’ time, it may not be. And if Quirrell gains control of you…”

“Then all is lost,” Harry finished. “Is there news of him, anyway?”

“Just that he is nearby. Strengthen your shields, especially before you sleep, Harry.”

“Alright. But for now, I think I better have that bath.”

Severus mortified himself by blushing again, and he watched Harry wink at him before walking out. His eyes were drawn downwards to the boy’s rounded backside, evident in his tight trousers, which absolutely did not help.

\---

_The song of blood hums within him. He felt that siren call. Kith, it says. Kin. Blood of my blood. Childe to sire. And he smiles._


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well you're in luck. I wasn't planning on uploading the next part yet, but I felt the need to wash the taste of that bad review out of my mouth. Guys, please feel free to stop reading a fic at any time. But you don't have to criticize the fic on your way out the door. Really. Also, this story is basically finished and the original version is still posted on FFN so it's pretty much a done deal by this point. I know it's not perfect. I'm not actually that good a writer. But I don't need to doubt myself some more, especially since I'm still working on the sequel. There. Rant over. Please enjoy. There will be one more chapter and an epilogue left.

Shields or no shields, that night, Harry tossed and turned. 

On his desk, a tiny amber cat curled up in sleep vibrated faster and faster. With a cry, Harry woke up, just as the charmed stone shattered.

\---

In spite of his promise to Severus, Harry decided he had best see Master Arugba in person. He gathered the shards of the amber in a small washcloth, and headed downstairs to scarf down some breakfast.

“Hey.” Daniel was straddling one chair in the kitchen, twirling a pen while staring at a music sheet in front of him.

“Hey,” Harry said back, reaching automatically into the cupboards for a bag of instant oatmeal. “You’re up early.”

“Never slept,” Daniel replied. “There’s this melody, you see. It doesn’t want me to rest until I’ve turned it into a song.”

“Is it a magical thing?” Harry asked uncertainly. He knew enough to ask; several years ago, there was a big scandal when a muggleborn was victimized by a book she couldn’t put down. She had bought it in a second-hand shop.

But the musician just laughed at him. “Nah. Just a Daniel thing. Music has power of course, but it’s diffuse, because people don’t really listen that well. Though, well, magical concerts can be dangerous.”

Harry just nodded. He filled a bowl with the oats and some hot water from a charmed thermos and began to eat. 

“Where are you headed anyway?”

“To Master Arugba,” Harry replied. “Just something I need to consult him on.”

“You alright?” Daniel asked him, his head tilted as he gazed at Harry’s tired eyes.

“I guess.” Harry let the oatmeal warm his insides. “I will be,” he said more strongly.

\---

Master Arugba passed his hand over the amber shards and shook his head. “Some forces are too strong even for stone to stand.”

“Vampiric forces?” Harry asked with tension in his voice. “Was it—was it _me_?”

The tiny stone smith looked up with furrowed brows. “Does Harry doubt himself?”

“Quirrell _bit_ me.” Harry clenched his hands on the table. “I could turn into a vampire tomorrow. _Of course_ I doubt myself.”

“But doubt is where darkness attacks.” A look of concentration came upon Arugba’s face, and the shards of stone slowly fused themselves. Before Harry’s eyes, the sleeping cat reassembled itself. “The charm is broken, but stone I always can forge again.”

“I don’t think I can fight him, master.” Harry looked at the smith with despair. “Not while I am fighting myself, too.”

“Then do not.” Arugba patted his hand. “Accept yourself before you face him.”

“But that’s like giving up, isn’t it?” Harry looked scandalized. It was opposite what Severus and even Sirius Black had been teaching him.

Master Arugba gazed at him so directly that Harry automatically looked away. “All have darkness and light in their souls. We accept both of ourselves. We use both to fight outer enemy. That is how we win.”

Harry closed his eyes as the words finally sank in. “You think I should kill him, don’t you.”

Arugba tilted his head and asked. “What does Harry think?”

\---

That afternoon, still troubled, Harry owled Severus a note from Diagon Alley. He browsed the shops absent-mindedly while waiting for a reply.

The sun was dipping into the earth by the time he saw Severus. The older man striding out from the entrance at The Leaky Cauldron lightened his mood a bit. But the thunderous face that the headmaster was wearing made him cringe.

“I thought I told you to take it easy for a couple of days, Harry Potter,” Severus hissed at him. “What are you doing out here? You haven’t even bothered with a decent disguise.”

Harry self-consciously twiddled with his longer than normal black locks. He had been too much in a hurry to bother about changing his hair colour or his bone structure. “I know. I just—can I talk to you somewhere private?”

Severus gripped him on his shoulder _hard._ “Fine,” he said, displeasure colouring his face. He practically pushed Harry towards The Leaky Cauldron and straight to the floo portal.

\---

Harry stumbled out into the headmaster’s office at Hogwarts to find Severus leaning against his table with his arms crossed, still glaring at him.

“Now tell me what is so important that you needed to be so reckless.”

“I needed to talk to Master Arugba about something.” Harry bit his lip. Now that he thought of it, his reasons seemed so insignificant. “He said something about me needing to accept my own darkness to be able to fight Quirrell. I just—I’m scared of myself. What if I do become a monster?”

Severus sighed, looking weary. Harry immediately felt guilty.

“I’m sorry,” he added. “I know you’re busy with the school. But there’s no one else I can talk to about this.”

“Don’t apologize, Harry. I understand.” Severus’ voice was quiet. His loosened his arms and looked down into his palms. “I don’t know about this darkness that you speak of, but if killing Quirrell is the only way to be free, then there must be no hesitation. Is that what you fear? That you will be forced to take a life?”

Harry nodded jerkily. “I don’t know if I can, though. You said he could control my thoughts and my body. I don’t see how I can fight him then.”

“Your shields will help with that. And if he faced you, Quirrell will need to concentrate on controlling you, which leaves him vulnerable to attack from other parties. If you attack him physically and take him by surprise, then he will not be able to take hold of your mind.”

“But what if I can’t strike the killing blow?”

“Then I will do so,” Severus spoke, in a tone so soft that Harry could barely make out his words.

Harry felt like crying of relief. “Why are you helping me?” He asked. “Why are you doing all this for me? You didn’t even _like_ me when I was a student here!”

Severus straightened up and took a step towards him. “Do you really not know?”

“Yes, I don’t.” Harry practically screamed at his face.

“Because I love you, you idiot!” Severus barked. Then immediately looked like he regretted his words. “Because—“ He covered his face with his hands. “Oh Merlin, this is such a bloody mess.”

Harry gaped for a second before throwing his head back in laughter.

“This is not a joke, you brat!” Severus looked like he wanted to murder him.

“No, it isn’t,” Harry said, laughter dying on his lips. He stepped forward, touching Severus’ cheekbone with his right thumb. “This is very, very serious.”

Severus stared back at him, speechless.

“How long?” Harry murmured, leaning towards the older man. “Because you know, I _am_ only sixteen. That’s borderline creepy, that is.”

Severus closed his eyes and groaned, half with desire and half with misery as he felt the puff of breath against his neck. “Don’t you think I know what this looks like? You could be my son.”

Harry chuckled. “I hope you never had a thing for my mum because that's just awkward,” he murmured into Severus’ ear. “And I certainly don’t see you as my father. How long?” He repeated, pulling back to gaze into the other man’s eyes.

“I was attracted to you since last year,” Severus confessed, looking down. But Harry tilted his head up with one hand. “That blasted tournament.”

“And love?” 

They stared at one another for a second. “A few months,” Severus choked out. “You’ve grown on me.” He attempted to sound sarcastic.

Harry made a pleased, humming sound and kissed him. Severus found himself opening his mouth to the young man’s exploring tongue. His arms wrapped around the boy’s still too-thin shoulders. 

“Harry,” Severus moaned when he started to trail kisses down to the headmaster’s throat. 

Harry bit him, causing Severus to groan.

“Please.” Within the haze of pleasure, it dawned on Harry what he had done.

“Merlin, I’m sorry,” he pulled back a little. “I didn’t mean to—did I hurt you?” He rubbed the bite mark in concern. He suddenly thought of Quirrell, but forced himself to banish the image from his mind.

Severus just gazed back at him. His eyes looked intense, and yet very, very sober. “Please don’t stop.”

Harry closed his eyes and leaned against Severus’ shoulder. “Thank you, Severus.”

Severus pulled him back into a kiss in answer.

\---

Harry woke up in the middle of the night from another bad dream. He was disoriented for a moment, especially at realizing he was naked under the sheets. But seeing the face beside him immediately brought a smile to his face. Severus. _Sleeping_ Severus. _Naked,_ sleeping Severus. It was all those fantasies come to life.

Last night had been... something different. Instead of the furtive fumbling he had done with Quirrell, he and Severus had taken their time, just touching and kissing each other. The older man had been reluctant at first, very much aware of all the lines he was crossing. But Harry hadn't let him dwell on that. Maybe it was an after-effect of his occlumency lessons, but he knew what he wanted now, and knew it was not clouded by his fears and doubts, or tainted by his gratitude for the older man's help. Well last night, neither of them had done much thinking; he made sure of that. 

A soft chime caught his ear, and he turned towards a tall grandfather clock at the foot of the bed. It was like the clock the Weasleys had, with one hand each for every member of the family, but he was surprised to see two hands on the clock, one with his name on it. He didn’t notice it last night, but then, he was _busy._

And then he saw its designation: Time to Run.

Harry frowned. Perhaps the twins were worrying about him, so the clock wanted him to hurry home. He slid out of the bed as quietly as he could, then, because he couldn’t resist it, kissed Severus on the cheek, before pulling on his robes.

He left a hasty note on the bedside table, then headed towards the floo. He didn’t know what made him hesitate and shout, “Hogsmeade!” into the flames before stepping in. Perhaps an unconscious craving for a drink, he thought, even as he was spat out into the bright tavern at the tiny wizarding village. 

Too late, he realized, that he had absolutely no disguise on. From behind the bar, Rosmerta’s wide eyes clued him in, and he cursed under his breath, turned up his collar, and headed straight out into the cold night, past the half-filled tables and chairs. He didn’t even think to turn back to the floo. 

“Harry Potter, sex has addled your brain,” he muttered to himself. He stood for a moment beneath a lamp, contemplating whether it would be easier to walk towards Hogwarts again, or to the outskirts of the village to call the Knight Bus. 

That was when it hit him. Literally hit him.

And all he knew was darkness.


	17. Chapter 17

Severus Snape woke up to a cold and empty bed. He felt an instinctive surge of bitterness within him which he immediately covered with rage. Had last night been nothing more than a _pity fuck_? He hauled himself up and headed to the bathroom for a shower, his movements jerky and impatient. Under the blast of cold water, he had time to calm down and think about it.

Last night had been… Severus turned away from the shower head as if from an audience. Last night had been better than he had ever dreamed, but it wasn’t complete. He had wanted to wake up with Harry in his arms.

But of course the boy probably slipped home so the Weasleys wouldn’t worry about him. Looking down at the soap in his hands, Severus suddenly regretted showering so soon. He wanted to have Harry’s scent on him longer. Then he cursed himself for a sentimental fool, and stalked out in a fresh set of robes. 

That was when he spotted the note on the table at the other side of his bed. He picked it up with his left hand and smiled, absently rubbing his name in the young man’s messy handwriting on one side while he walked to his dining table, where the house-elves has, as usual, placed a fresh pot of tea with some eggs and sausages. They were still steaming. 

He poured himself a cup and stirred in some sugar before opening the letter.

_Severus,_ it read, _I would love to have stayed, but the guys are expecting me back. Next time, we’ll plan ahead. Better yet, next time I’ll let you take me out on a date. Not a stingy one either! Thank you, Harry._

No declarations of eternal, undying love. But Severus’ eyes were on the two words: next time. He took a sip of his tea, his mind wandering, when he heard a voice from his office. 

“Headmaster! Has Harry contacted you?” It was George Weasley’s worried face in the green flames. “We just noticed his empty bed. He never came home last night.”

In the dining room, the tea cup suddenly cracked, spilling the tea all over the table. But Severus barely noticed.

\---

The ground was hard beneath him. It was the first thought that entered Harry’s head as soon as he awoke. He felt pebbles dig into his shoulder blades and lower back, and wanted to shift, but his pounding head made him leery of moving. 

He opened his eyes, and was greeted with darkness like liquid ink. Then, the darkness twisted. Into a man looming over him.

“Hello, Harry,” Quirinus said with a gentle smile.

\---

“I’ll find out where he is. In the meantime, call for reinforcements and stand ready,” Severus said to George before his face disappeared in the flames. He then stood up and held up his wand. “ _Flammotegere!_ ” He cast a spell on the fire to tell him the details of its last use. 

It was a tricky spell, as fire does not always respond well to magic. He persisted, however, and once he got his answer, contacted Sirius, sparing just a moment in ordering him to meet up at the spot.

“What is this all about, Snape?” Sirius looked irritable and pale in the early morning light that entered The Three Broomsticks’ grimy windows. 

“It’s Harry,” Severus began and took small satisfaction in witnessing the other man’s face fill with worry.

\---

"Where am I?" Harry scrambled backwards, but found himself trapped against a rough stone wall. "What did you do to me?"

Quirinus Quirrell sat back on his haunches with a small chuckle. "Don't worry, love. You are safe here," he spoke in a tone meant to soothe him.

But it prickled over him like thorns. "Don't call me that, you—you liar!" He tried to call on the anger he had nursed since he discovered Quirrell's duplicity, but his heart was thudding in panic instead. He felt behind him for anything he could use as a weapon but there were merely pebbles that dug into his nails.

"Ah," Quirrell smiled, extending a hand to rest on Harry's foot. "So you are still mad about that."

Harry spluttered, rendered utterly speechless.

\---

Hogsmeade proved to be a dead end, even with Rosmerta's full cooperation. Between the two of them, they found the corner where Harry was taken. And a simple spell revealed by whom.

Now, they just had to find where that pest of a vampire was hiding.

Severus was pacing around his office, while Black called his various associates to help in the search. After one such call, the fire flared green, and George’s anxious freckled face appeared. 

“Any luck?”

\---

Quirrell was crowding him, until Harry was pressed against the wall, trying to avoid the other man's lips. Quirrell breathed against his neck. 

"Oh, but I've missed you so, my love."

"You mean my blood," Harry replied bitterly. "You've missed sucking my blood."

"Among other things."

\---

"He may be out of the country by now! No location charm can search so broad." George looked like he wanted to tear his hair out by each red root.

They were seated around the Weasleys' dining table: George and Fred on either side of Daniel, with Severus and Sirius on opposite sides, with Arugba occupying the other end. It was Daniel who thought to call the stone smith, as he had been closest to Harry in the last few weeks. 

On the table in front of them was a map of Britain spread out, with the wizarding sections glowing.

"We need to know what happened exactly," Sirius demanded. "The last I saw of the boy, he'd almost lost control. Perhaps he went to Quirrell willingly?"

"Of course not," Severus snapped at him. "The boy is impulsive, but it would take more than a temper to get him to run into that parasite's arms."

Daniel raised both hands. “Now, now. Can we just try to be calm about this? I saw Harry last yesterday morning. He said he was headed off to Master Arugba.”

Arugba nodded. “Indeed Harry came to see me about his problem. But he leave early.”

“Do you know where he went?” Fred asked.

But Severus interrupted. “I know.” He took a deep breath and cast an uncertain glance at Black, before starting. “He contacted me from Diagon Alley…”

\---

Quirrell had always been a great kisser, and he continued to prove how much. As the other man's tongue and teeth and lips danced against his, Harry felt his resolve weakening, and hated himself for it. He closed his eyes against the attack against his senses. But in the darkness behind his own eyelids, he saw somebody’s face. 

Severus. 

“Not bad,” Harry forced himself to speak, even while his head tilted treacherously to allow the other man greater access to his neck. His hands were gripping rock behind him, and he unconsciously drew power from stone, using its strength to add. “Not as good as Snape though.”

Quirrell drew back, and for a moment, Harry flinched from the naked anger on his face. “Don’t tell me,” he hissed.

“Yes, I shagged Severus Snape. And he’s a lot better at it than you,” Harry shouted, even while his eyes were shut tight. Any moment now, Quirrell would kill him and he braced himself for the blow. Any moment now…

\---

“You did what?” Sirius Black’s jaw actually dropped open, before he scrambled up and almost leapt over the table to get his hands around Severus’ neck. 

George and Daniel immediately jumped forward to grab onto Black’s arms and hold him back. Fred had fallen backwards from his chair, laughing, and was therefore no help.

Arugba kept silent, his face difficult to interpret, though his ears were flat against his head and his eyes were larger than usual.

Severus surveyed them all. Black was practically foaming at the mouth, he thought almost clinically. “This is not helping Harry, Black,” he spoke as clearly as he could.

Black took control of himself with effort, before retaliating. “Admit it, you fucked the boy to get to me, didn’t you, Snivellus? You probably planned all this from the start.”

Severus bared his teeth. “Contrary to what you may think, Black, I don’t care about you that much.”

“He’s just a kid.” Black shrugged off George and Daniel and straightened up. “And he’s in a vulnerable position, for Merlin’s sake. You took advantage of him and you know it.”

“He is a young man who has been finding his own strength.” Severus tried hard not to sound defensive. “He knows his own mind, Black. He knows his own heart. As do I.”

“Bravo!” Fred interrupted the stare-down by standing up and clapping.

George slapped his twin brother behind his head. “Shut up, idiot.”

“Tell me, Master Severus, is there anything Harry left behind?” Arugba used the distraction to speak up. 

Breaking eye contact, Severus looked into the stone smith’s almost preternaturally calm gaze.

He didn't think the goblin was referring to the note Harry had written. “No, he left nothing.”  ”Ah.” Arugba leaned back on the too-large chair in satisfaction. “Then Harry still wears the snake. That makes it easy for us.”

“Easy for us to what?" Fred had become serious once more.

"To be able to direct stone is a magic that is very rare so I can sense it even from afar. Harry wears his own work, and the special stone is known to me.” The stone smith pulled out a gleaming circle made of amethyst from a pouch at his waist. “Especially since I brought this.” It had been Harry’s last project, interrupted by his transformation. “Harry’s stone magic is a beacon.”

\---

Quirrell snarled and slashed at Harry, his right hand curved into a claw. Harry felt his cheek sting, and in instinct, raised his foot to slam into the other man’s torso. Gaining a bit of distance, he scrambled sideways to his left, towards the source of light. 

He found himself at the mouth of the cave, looking at the dark sky above him. All around him were scraggly trees and windswept rocks. They were near the top of some mountain. 

_How long has it been?_ Harry thought, as he gazed at the scattered stars. _Has an entire day passed?_

At a noise behind him, he turned and slipped on some loose rocks on the ground, sliding down a couple of feet until he was stopped by a boulder about half his size. It was smooth but lumpy, with a spiny protuberance at the side. 

He heard an inhuman shriek behind him. Without thinking it through, Harry gripped the rock protuberance, and with all his magic, he _pulled._ Deep within the mountain, iron called to iron, and the very earth shuddered. 

And from the stone, a sword was forged.

\---

The amethyst swung on a circle slowly, as Master Arugba held it on a thin golden chain over the map. Then it _quivered,_ before shooting towards the north where it held still. 

“Hmm.” Arugba let the vibrations wash over him. The boy had done something that required a lot of his magic. This did not bode well for his situation, especially in his condition. But he dared not voice his thoughts out loud. Harry’s friends were tense enough.

“Get the coordinates,” Sirius Black barked while Fred and George fiddled with the magical compass and ruler, bending over the map. Daniel had been sent to retrieve Black’s best sword from his home.

Severus stood by the doorway with right hand in his sleeve, over his wand. They had to either floo into an open area, or apparate from outside the house. They would have to be discreet, he thought as he looked out the window. Darkness had come early, and the streets were lined with houses full of ignorant muggles. He tried to think of strategies, of weapons. But his mind kept returning to the young human.

_Harry, please be alright._

\---

Harry slashed at Quirrell’s stomach from left to right, but the other man darted away lightning-quick. 

“So you found yourself a toy, haven’t you, love?” Quirinus said almost in delight. “That’s twice now you’ve managed to surprise me.”

“What do you care?” Harry gasped out even as he went on the offensive. His body instinctively followed the sword pattern Black had taught him, called the Swallow-Tail. But Quirrell always danced nimbly back, always out of reach.

“I care because you are mine, Harry,” Quirrell said, before raising his left hand and intercepting a blow to his head. “I own you, not Severus. Whatever you have you will offer unto me.”

The sword thudded against his palm, and Harry saw blood drip down the length of his weapon. But although he pushed all his strength into it, he could not move the sword. His frustration made his magic flare wildly around him, and he felt his teeth dig into his lower lips.

_No,_ Harry thought, even as he tried to wrest the sword back from the vampire. _Not now._

But although he felt new strength rush into his arms, it was not enough. Quirrell almost negligibly yanked the sword from his hands. He held it with his left while his wand suddenly appeared at his right. And he stepped forward, smiling. His fangs gleamed in the moonlight.

Harry found himself snarling, while equal amounts of fear and bloodlust stirred within him.

“Welcome childe. Welcome home.” Quirrell held out his left hand, gripping the sword parallel to the ground from beneath the hilt. With his right he slashed at his forearm. And more blood flowed. “Come and feed, my love.”

Harry growled, but his eyes tracked the flow of liquid, as his own heartbeat filled his ears and time seemed to slow down. 

_Ka-thump._

A series of pops and Quirrell was surrounded. 

Sirius Black held a gleaming sword coated in black, with an elaborate hilt of steel. Severus Snape was holding a wand at Quirrell, though his left had also gripped a short sword. Arugba had appeared to one side, about a meter and a half away from where Harry lay. Fred and George Weasley now stood on his other side, both with wands at ready.

And still the blood called to him.

_Ka-thump._

He saw their mouths form words that he could not hear above his own ears’ roaring, and his own heart’s thunderous beat. Quirrell had whirled to face the headmaster and Black, sword and wand now gripped as if in a proper wizards’ duel, but his face was the face of a monster. The same as his.

Fred and George had rushed to his side, but Master Arugba warned them off even as he growled. He saw fear rush down the twins’ spines.

And he almost smiled.

_Ka-thump._

Their movements were fluid, like dance patterns on some stage. His eyes were transfixed by droplets of blood, flying in the air, falling on cloth and among the rocks. Then somehow, Quirrell lunged and wounded Snape. And wind rushed into his ears, as he watched the headmaster lean back against the trunk of a gnarled tree, and clutch his ribs. The man was bleeding, and yet he turned towards Harry, his face etched with pain, with love.

At his periphery, he barely noticed the stone smith holding out his hand. 

Through his bloodlust, he heard the words. “Harry’s mine,” Severus snarled, stepping forward once more. Quirrell snarled something back, but his grip had faltered, and the sword lurched, leaving him wide open.

_Ka-thump._

And Harry watched as Sirius Black slammed his sword through the vampire’s body. It emerged from his back. Severus Snape then slashed his weapon across the vampire’s neck. His head rolled down the mountain, while his body turned into bones that clattered against the stony mountain peak.

_Ka-thump._

Darkness.

\---

When Harry next woke up, it was because he had a face full of Severus Snape. He instinctively pushed him away. “Geroff.”  Fred and George laughed almost hysterically at this reaction, and he saw Sirius Black’s carefully blank face as he nodded once. Master Arugba remained silent; Harry saw him bending over the sword lying on the ground. 

Severus looked embarrassed only for a moment, before hauling Harry into his arms. 

“You utter idiot,” he whispered into the boy’s ears. “You foolish, irrepressible, incorrigible little brat.”

“I love you, too, Severus Snape,” Harry murmured back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's only the epilogue left. The sequel, as I said, is still in progress, clocking in at around 13K words. The tone will be different primarily because the original Bound was started before book five came out and finished seven years ago. While I only started writing the sequel early this year. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone for your continuing support.


	18. Chapter 18

Epilogue

_Dear Aunt Petunia,_

_I just wrote to tell you that I’ve passed my sixth year exams, and received commendations from my professors that will let me pursue higher studies if I wanted to. I haven’t decided yet however, and I have some friends offering me a partnership in their fledgling business, so I’ve my options._

_Anyway, I may not be able to write as often, but my current address allows me to receive mail. And I would love to hear from you. I am doing well, Aunt Petunia. It has been an eventful year, but after my exams things have become quiet, although I remain busy._

_I want you to know that I don’t blame you for anything. I know I didn’t grow up in the best of circumstances, but I don’t regret anything, and I hope neither do you. I have been patching things up with Mr. Black, although it is slow going, as the man is too proud to even admit he was wrong, and my anger feels like an old habit now._

_I would also like to tell you that I am in love, although I will not bore you with the details…_

“Harry, why are you hiding in here?” Daniel asked from the attic doorway.

Harry Potter, now officially of age and a Hogwarts graduate, looked up from his letter, almost splashing ink onto the parchment. “Sorry, I just wanted to get this down before the guests arrive.”

“Sirius is already here, and he brought someone.”

Harry raised his brows. “He’s _dating_ someone?” 

Daniel laughed. “No, he brought his apprentice. Neville Longbottom, I heard his name was.”

“Oh. _Neville._ ” Harry rolled his eyes, but he smiled at the prospect of seeing his old friend. “I guess I better get ready,” he said, looking down at his scruffy shirt and threadbare jeans.

Daniel walked towards him, cuffing him in the head affectionately. “No guessing about it, mate. You don’t want Severus to see you like that, do you?”

Harry couldn’t stop the sappy smile from stealing onto his face. 

”Oh you’ve got it bad.” The musician teased him.

“Shut up,” Harry retorted ineffectively. “Now shoo. I’ll be down as soon as I’ve changed.” 

He watched until Daniel trudged downstairs. From the open doorway, he could hear the music from the phonograph mingled with the flaring of the floo as each guest arrived. Maybe Severus was one of them. The thought made him hurry into a nicely pressed shirt in emerald green and charcoal slacks, both recent purchases. He slipped on tailored dress robes in the same shade as his pants, and tried to do something with his hair, before giving it up and heading down almost at a run.

“Whoa there, handsome,” Fred said. He wrapped his left arm around Harry’s neck, while his other hand held a foamy mug. “What’s the rush?” They were standing in the hallway, while most of the guests were in the living and dining room.

“Quit it, Fred. You’ll wrinkle my shirt.” Harry tried to shrug him off.

Fred dramatically clutched his heart. “You wound me. And here I was with such good news for you.”

Intrigued in spite of himself, Harry asked. “What is it?”

Fred leaned into his ear. “Just heard from mum. Ronniekins got some girl all duffed up.” He giggled.

“A little too early to be this drunk, aren’t we, Mr. Weasley? And kindly refrain from draping yourself over Potter.” Severus Snape barked at them from the end of the hallway. He looked at Harry so darkly that the young man flushed.

Fred straightened up a bit, immediately looking more sober. “Aw, headmaster, you know I mean nothing by it,” he said with a wink. “Just celebratin’ is all.”

“The newest addition to your family?” Severus raised a perfectly arched brow. “Your brother told me wedding plans were already underway. I must remember to congratulate Miss Granger.”

Harry burst out laughing and couldn’t stop even when Severus has reached his side. 

\---

For the rest of the night, Harry did not leave Severus’ side, although he was careful not to press too closely or to tease him overtly. 

Their relationship remained a secret for these past few months, although the people who matter to them both already knew. _And isn’t it weird that Black is one of those? Well, more or less._ Harry thought to himself as he sighted his former guardian across the room. 

“Harry!” Neville bounded towards him. “How has it been, mate?” 

Harry smiled as the other man pulled him into a hug. “Congratulations on your N.E.W.Ts, Nev, and on your apprenticeship.”

Neville practically hyperventilated. “Yeah, isn’t it great? Mr. Black said he might have another apprentice aside from me, but I’ve yet to meet him. He’s already drawn out a sort of curriculum for the next year.”

Sirius Black followed his apprentice to stand in front of Harry and Severus. He nodded at the headmaster civilly, before speaking. “If you’ll be interested in continuing your sword fighting, Harry, you may join my apprentices. Longbottom here has had rudimentary training, and will probably catch up to you soon.”

Harry shrugged, unsure if he would take the man up on the offer. On the one hand, it would be a waste to stop now. On the other, he didn't like the idea of being beholden further to the other man. 

“You could start a school for the art, I suppose,” Severus commented, perhaps to cover Harry's rudeness, before asking. “And who else will you be teaching, Black?” 

The floo flared and a young man entered. He was dressed in teal robes and had his long blond hair tied back. He spotted them and hesitated before stepping closer.

“Everyone, I assume you know my nephew, Draco Malfoy?” Sirius Black introduced. 

Neville’s jaw dropped. Harry would have laughed, but he had caught Draco’s eye, and they nodded at each other in acknowledgment. 

“How have you been, Harry?” Draco spoke in a soft tone.

“Oh, everything’s going great,” Harry said, smiling, even as he felt the older man beside him bristle in jealousy. He sneaked an arm through Severus’, suddenly not caring who saw. “Everything’s bloody brilliant.”

\---

Master Arugba arrived late, as most of the other guests have started leaving, but Harry greeted him warmly. It had been awhile since they last saw each other. He had been too busy with schoolwork to come to the workshop as often.

He immediately noticed that the goblin was carrying a long package wrapped in black velvet. “A gift for Harry,” Arugba said, handing it to him. 

A lump formed in his throat, as he traced the shape of the package. “You didn’t have to, Master Arugba. Really,” he forced past the lump. He had an idea as to what it contained.

But the smith was insistent. “Harry is an adult now, and this is a weapon worthy of him.”

And weapon it was indeed. He uncovered the velvet to behold the sword he had forged from stone at the peak of the mountain. It was cleaned and sharpened, and its hilt had been changed, shaped into what seemed like two snakes intertwined. They had emerald eyes.

“That’s quite the Slytherin weapon,” Draco commented from behind him.

“Shush, Drake.” It was Sirius who spoke.

“I-I don’t feel right about taking this,” Harry began, but Sirius cut him off.

“Does it feel right in your hand?”

Harry nodded reluctantly, turning the sword over in his fist. Its weight and heft fit him like a glove.

“There is obsidian now, added to the iron,” Arugba said as if it were a done deal. “It holds an edge longer.”

He shook his head. “But if I wield it, then I will remember the last person to do so.” Quirrell had used it to cut himself and call on his bloodlust. And he had wounded Severus with it.

“Blooded both by friend and foe,” Severus mused from behind him. “It helped us defeat him, Harry. And in the end, it is just a weapon. It is the wielder we must fight against, not the sword in his hand.”

“And Quirrell’s dead,” Harry said. It was a sentence he had repeated to himself often, as if he still needed convincing.

“And Quirrell’s mere ashes on a mountain top,” Severus agreed before bowing gracefully to Master Arugba. “We thank you, sir, for such a gift.”

Harry bowed, too, his grip on the sword tightening. He swore he could feel it _hum._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revision Notes: the things I've changed are primarily Arugba's character and separate and distinct personalities for the twins. I've also set it up for my sequel. 
> 
> I cannot promise you a consistent updating schedule, but I'm done with the Hello Monster series that took over my life for the last two months, so hopefully it means I can focus on this again. Thank you to everyone who read, commented and clicked the kudos button. The sequel is going to be called "Freed: The Tale of the Apprentice." (Because I realized I totally suck at titles.)
> 
> Happy Thanksgiving to my fellow Canadians out there!


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